F 128 
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ffi 




IWMii Os 




OR, 



Lights and Shades of New York. 



BY 



HARRY H. MARKS. 



New Yoek : 

THE STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

No. 80 Vesey Street. 




1883. 




SMALL CHANGE; 



OB^ 



Lights and Shades of New York. 



BY ^ 

HARRY H. MARKS 



HpH^y^ ' 



New York: '^^ '^ 

THB STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
No, 30 Vesey Street. 
1 88a. 



\,^. Va/ . Va^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 188S, 
by the Standard Publishing Oonipauy, in the office of the 
Librarian of Congress at Washington. 

r- 

Al 
h/\3V 



PUBLISEEE8 PBEFACB, 



The sketches published in this volnmne depict some of the 
most interesting phases of hfe in New York, as seen by a news- 
paper reporter. Several have appeared in the columns of the JV. 
T. W(yrld, the Chicago limes, the Illustrated Weekly and other 
jonrnals with which the author was formerly connected. They 
are now presented to the public for the first time in book form, 
the* publishers believing that they are worthy of more enduring 
favor than usually attaches to newspaper articles. 

The names' of the people who figured in the incidents reported 
have, for obvious reasons, been suppressed or altered and, in some- 
instances, Ihe author has slightly modified the stiflEness of stereo- 
typed newspaper phraseology. With these exceptions, the volume 
consists literally of leaves from a reporter's note bopk, and the 
articles are, for the most part, statements of verified facts, gathered 
in the course of a ten years experience on the press. 

IHE STANDAKB PUBLISHING CO. 

No. 30 Yesey Stsebt, K. Y. 



CONTENTS, 

pAaa 
THE NEWSPAPER REPORTER | 

A DOSE OF MORPHINE U 

PRIVATE DETECTIVES X2 

THE SOCIETY THIEF , , . . . . 18 

BOME CONFIDENCE GAMES 18 

GIFTS TO 'THE BRIDE . ,..,.. 21 

GRINDERS OF THE ORGAN , , , 23 

HUMORS OF THE STREET , . . o . . W 

OUR TENEMENT HOUSES , 29 

IMPLEMENTS OF CRIME 32 

A COMMUNISTIC BANQUET = ....» 

SATURDAY NIGHT ON THE BOWERY . . , , , . 38 

THE CHINESE IN NEW YORK 40 

STREET TRICKS 43 

WOMEN WHO WORK ^ 

POPULAR SONGS 48 

POLICE DETECTIVES 61 

FANNY STACY'S MOTHER 68 

BOARDING-HOUSE LIFE 59 

SOME CURIOSITIES OF CRIME 83 

OUR BOHEMIAN COLONY ^ 

A DUKE WHO KEEPS AN INN 70 

A MONKEY'S FINISHING SCHOOL 73 

AMATEUR ACTORS 7j 

A HORRIBLE TALE 81 

THE MIDSUMMER MAIDEN 83 

•'MY UNCLE." „ 85 

A STORY PROM THE MORGUE 83 

IN THE EDITORS SANCTUM ,,,,,„ W 

A BAVARLIN EEST TAG •.,.. St 



TEE NEW8PAPEB BEPORTER 

FEW of the millions of readers, who every morning eagerly scan 
their daily papers in search of the latest news, and praisa or 
blame their editors, according to their feelings, ever give as mnoh 
as a thought to that hard- worked and much- abused class, the re- 
porters, who, on the previous day, were scouring the country, 
near and far, in search of choice bits oi political scandal or social 
gossip, which are dished up to the public in such an inviting form. 
To most of them the reporter is either an unimportant personage, 
unworthy of their notice, or a monster of iniquity too awful to 
think of. In fact, he is neither. Once a reporter myself, I claim 
to know something of my former confreres; and, I propose to tell 
it. 

The American newspaper reporters are no longermere machines 
for reporting speeches or chronicling the dry details of daily occur- 
rences, like their counterparts in the old-fashioned journalism of 
Europe. Their duties are various and important; and, by their 
faithful performance of them, they have contributed largely toward 
earning for the journals of this country the high reputation that 
they enjoy at home and abroad. The biographers and eulogists 
of other men, they have no one to sound their praise unless they 
do it themselves. Their work being altogether anonymous^ 
they get no credit for it outside of the offices in which they work, 
and their only recompense is their professional pay, which is 
shamefully inadequate. 

Newspaper reporters may be divided into two classes— viz: the 
fihort-hand reporters, whose duties are chiefly mechanical, and 
who report trials, speeches, sermons, etc., and the news reporters 
who write descriptive articles, serious and humorous, describe 
processions, balls, and other gatherings, and report political and 
Bocial sensations, tragic or romantic, and compose local articles ot 
the lighter order. The members of both classes must be men of 
good education and pleasant address. The latter, moreover, must 
have a facility for rapid, easy, and graceful writing, as well as a 
£;ood general knowledge of men and things. As a rule, reporters 



8 THE NEWSPAPER EEPOETER 

are young men between the ages of 18 and 30. Frequently they are 
men of university traiuing and good social position, who enter a 
newspaper ofl&ce with the pay of a ttnge-drivtr, in the uBuallyvaiii 
hope of working their way up to an editorial position. This they 
very rarely do, however, for the reason that if a man is a good re- 
porter his services in that line are too valuable to be dispensed 
with; and if he is not a good reporter, he does not stay long enough 
on any one paper to earn promo'ion. The vast majority of the 
men, entering at on early age upon a precarious and Bohemian 
sort of existence, are soon disheartened at their poor prospects; 
and, if their position is such as to oblige them to remaiu at the 
work, they become dissipated and lose all ambition to rise to a 
higher place. M^iny a reporter, who had begun life at 20, with 
fair hopes of a brilliant future, has found himself at middle age 
no better off than when he began. Thij, partly because the bet- 
ter positions are very few, and partly|because promotion goes more 
often by favor than by merit 

A young man leaving college at 18, who goes into a newspaper 
office, to begin life as a reporter, without influence either with 
the editor or in the publisher's department, is put at police court 
work at $12 or $15 a week. His hours are from 9 or 10 a. m. until 
midnight, and his work is of the most tiresome and monotonous 
character. After a yvar or so he may be promoted to office report- 
ing at $25, or at the outside $35 a week; and be is obliged to re- 
port for assignment dai'y at 11 a. m. and 5 p. m,, so that he may 
be called upon at any time to engage in work that will keep him 
up half the uigbt. He may be in this position for years, with no 
prospect of bettering himself, unless he has influence or uncomnon 
luck, until he hies him to the country to take charge of some 
country sheet of which he may ultimately become the proprietor. 
Usually, however, he continues in town, adding to his income by 
corresponding for provincial papers and eking out a living as best 
he may. Sometimes his wide acquaintance with all kiuds of men 
may gst him a small political position or a place in some corpor* 
tion; but this h ippens very seldom. 

The experienced reporter, who knows the ins and outs of the 
offices, always prefers *'working on space''— that is being paid bf 
the article — to receiving a salary. The reason for this is clear. 
If he has a salary of $35, he may have to write ten columns a week^ 
and still he gets no extra pay. But, if he works on sp ice, he geta 
from $5 to $10 a column, and is paid according to what he does; 
making sometimes $50 or $60 a week. Besides, he has the advan* 
tage of being able to work just when he chooses, and may write 



THE NEWSPAPER EEPOETEB. • 

for ftB many papers as he likes. Nevertheless, "the space mftn** is 
not entirely happy. If he is sent to report some big eve^t and 
writes two column", he is liable, in the event of there being a 
crush of news, to have his article cut down three -fourths; and, in 
most offices, he is then paid only for what is printed instead of 
for what he wrote. This is a constant annoyance to him. Often 
his best stories are cruelly mutilated; what promised to be a good 
day's work is reduced to a paltry job; and the persons from whom 
lie got his information accuse him of garbliDg their statementB 
and misrepresenting them. Nor do his troubles end here. If he 
is not on good terms with the city editor or his assistants, his 
stories may be continually cut without reisou, or assignments 
xnay be with-held from bim. Most of all, in some offices, if he is 
sent to attend to a certain matter, and. after ten or twelve hours 
work, gets only ten lines, he is paid for these ten lines only, and 
receives no consideriition for his time. He may have spent a 
dollar or two in car fare; but according to the rules in some offices 
he can only charge for expenses out of town; so that if, in this 
given case, he has not had to leava the city, he is actually a loser 
by the day's work. Among other injustices he suffers is this; he 
Is ordered to wrice a special article, and devotes two or three days 
to the work, taking no other assignments in the meanwhile. His 
article completed, he hands it to the city editor, who sometimes 
delays its publication, for one reason or another, for sevtral weeks, 
during which time the reporter has to wait for his money; for 
nothing is paid for until it is published. Of course, at the end of 
the week in which he wrote the article, his bill is very small; and, 
equally, of course, he is too impecunious not to feel the effects of 
huving to wait two or three weeks for his pay. 

Naturally, the reader will ask: Bat why do the reporters stand 
such treatment? The answer is simply that they cannot help 
themselves. They are usually poor men. They have no trades 
union or protective association. If they resign, there are hun- 
dreds of others to take their places; for there are always a 
number of men of good education anxious to get work enough to 
keep body and soul together. And so they prefer to accept a half 
aloaf to having to go without bread. But do the editors allow 
such impositions? Well, with a few bright exceptions, yes. Tbd 
chief editors come little in contact with the reporters; and, as for 
the managing editors, tor the most part they are too anxious to 
curry favor with the publishers by the practice of rigid economy(i) 
to allow the question of fairness or justice to enter into their con- 
siderations. To the publishers, as a rule, he is the best managing 



10 THE l^EWSPAPEE KEPOBTEH. 

editor who has the smallest bills. And the managing editors 
kuow this. Their own positions are not secure enough for them 
to afford to ignore it, and so the unfortunate reporters suffer. 

Apart from the pecuniary difficulties of reporters, there are 
others almost unknown outside of the profession. It frequently 
happens that the editors, in their anxiety to ''beat" one another 
in obtaining the earliest news, resort to the most undignified and 
disagreeable means to get such information as they want, and the 
reporters, of course, are the tools they employ. To the credit of 
my confreres^ be it said, that I have personally known of many 
instances of reporters refusing point blank to accept assignments 
which would compromise them as gentlemen. During the Beech- 
er trial, some of the papers were in the habit of sending reporters 
to wait on the doorst«)p3 of prominent people concerned in that 
famous scandal, to spy upon their actions, and to report who went 
in and out of doors. They had to choose their men, though; for 
many a reporter, poor though he might be, would not stoop to 
such work. Fancy the position of a reporter who is sent to inter- 
view the widow of some murdered man, while the bleeding corpse 
of her husband lies in an adjoining room! Think of the pleasant 
task Msigned another of going to see Mr. Brown, on the evening 
of the day on which his wife died, to inquire whether she lett a 
will! I know of an instance of a reporter being sent to interview 
a young lady whose affianced husband had just committed suicide. 
The lady had not heard tbe news, and the reporter was the first to 
break it to her. She swooned, and he, perhaps ashamed of his 
position, left in haste, probably to be scolded by the city editor 
for not waiting until she recovered and interviewing her then. It 
is a common practice, when a prominent person dies and the 
papers have no material for an obitua-y, to send a reporter at once 
to the house to interview the surviving widow or orphans in re- 
gard to the life of the deceased. Sometimes, I am glad to say, the 
relatives kick the reporter downstairs, but, sometimes they are so 
overcome with grief that they have not the spirit to resent the 
insolent intrusion. In such cases as these, however, a reporter, 
who is at the same time a gentleman, will either respectfully de- 
cline the assignment, or take it and fulfill it in his own way and 
in a respectable manner. I do not think that any reporter is 
obliged at any time to compromise himself by undertaking a dis- 
tastef q1 duty like this ; but it is certainly not the fault of the 
editors if the reporters are not, all of them, a pack of sneaking, 
keyhole detectives. 

My own experience, extending over seven years, is that a gentle- 



A DOSE OF MORPHINE. 11 

2nan can be a reporter, and still be a gentleman. Bat it is ciifficxilti. 
The reporter who has not to reproach himself with having ever 
abased his position to obtrude upon the privacy of grief, to insult 
the defenceless or to act the spy, must have had a hard road to 
travel. He is, perhaps, an exceptional member of his class. I 
hope he may not remain so. There are blacklegs in all the walks 
of life; and ours is no exception to the rule. Let the dirty work 
of the press be done by them. Let the respectable members of 
the profession stand aloof from area-sneaking and death-bed in- 
terviewing. And let the public remember that there are reporters— 
and reporters. 



A DOSE OF MOBPEINK 



WHEN I was a lad I served a term as clerk in a drug store 
down South, where, when I was not occupied in putting 
mp two-ounce vials of castor oil, or in ladling out colocynth apples 
or cayenne, I used to find much pleasure in poring over De Qum- 
cey's Recollections of an Opium Eater That work had a remark- 
able effect upon me. It gave birth to a craving for opium, which 
was bound to be satisfied sooner or later. It happened to be soon- 
er. Availing myself one day of the run of the establishment which 
I enjoyed, I succeeded in getting a box of opium pills, which^to my 
mind, contained the material wherewith to manufacture all the joys 
of which De Quincey had so eloquently discoursed. 

Wiih the pills injmy pocket, I hied me home, and, on a glorious 
sunny Sunday afternoon, I divested myself of my oater garments, 
pulled down the blinds, lighted a couple of pastilles, put De 
Quincey on a chair by my bedside, and— swallowed three pills. I 
lay down and waited for the bliss to come. The pills worked, but 
the bliss did not come worth a cent. But a splitting headache did 
and after that a feeling of nausea almost indescribable, and in 
thirty minutes I was as sick as the proverbial dog. I threw up — 
all my theories of opium and opium eating; I flung De Quincey 
out of the window, and I went to bed a less experimental but more 
experienced youth. This happened some ten years ago, and from 
that time to this I have had a holy horror of opium in any form. 

A week ago I went to a celebrated and most incompeteni 
dentist to have a tooth extracted. In extracting it, the dentist 



12 riUTATE DETECTIVES. 

did — ^what many men had threatened to do before him, -but netef 
aclually did — he broke my jaw. That is, he splintered it and pat 
me m more pain than I remember ever to have endured before, 
Thospli.itered bones had to be cut out, of course, and that did 
not make me much the happier. At last, in desperate agony, I went 
to my friend, Dr. Kenneth Keid, for relief, and he gave me a 
hypodermic injection of morphine. That did help me — for a time. 
Did you ever have a hypodermic injection of morphine? Well- 
do; it is just too funny for any thing. At first yoa only feel a lit- 
tle Bunoyed at your doctor for sticking a needle in your arm to no 
purpose. Next you experience a crump in your head and a buzz- 
ing in your ear. Then the pain goes away, and you feel like a 
lammany ratification meeting and doD't linow your heels from a 
bund of music. At last yoa go to sleep and dream, dream the 
whole encyclopreiia, the diction iry, the gazeteer, your family 
history, the family history of all your friends and the Pateut office 
roports for^ twenty years back. You feel your brain traveUiug 
straight ahead at the rate of a thousand miles a minute. Yon are 
distinctly sensible of your brain knocking upagaiustyour cranium 
in its hurry to overtake what has gone before it. finally you wake 
up ma firing perspiration and vDur tongue hanging out of your 
mouth, your eyeballs way down on your cheek, and a general feel- 
ing of physical bankruptcy. But the pain has gone, and a 
glass of vichy or two, a warm bath and a cigar soon set yon 
nght, and you come to the conclusion, that I have reached, that 
opium properly and timely used, is a good thing, after alh 



PRIVA TE DETECTIVES, 



AMEBIGAN life is modelled after that of France {mnoh mora 
closely than we are generally willing to admit. This is true 
cf our dress, our food, our theatres, our literature, and notably of 
our system of espionage, known as the private detective eervioe. 
Born of the mutual fears and suspicions engendered among the 
nobles of France during the revolutionary periods, fostered under 
the rule of the Napoleonic dynasty, and spread in::: with time and 
political complications throughout Europe, this institution waa 
transplanted to Americ i quite recently, and has grown slowly and 
by stealth. The war did much to develope it, our elaborate and 



PKIVATE DETECTIVES. 18 

complicated revenue system needs its aid, and the demoralized 
condition of society since the war has giren it countenance and 
support. 

There is something in the very name of • 'private detective" 
which is repulsive to the frank and honest mind ; its very sound 
arouses curiosity, and, one might almost sny suspicion Never- 
theless, detectives are a very necessary element of any well-ordered 
society, and, if their services were directed exclusively towards tha 
ferretiog out of crime, they would, no doubt, have the unreserved 
support of the community. But unfortunately the power they 
wield is, by some of tliem, used as often for evil as for good. The 
system under which they woik is so lose and ; o dangerous that it 
virtually gives the reputations of the whole community into the 
keeping of a totally irresponsible and frequently untrustwcrthy 
class. 

The private, or, as it might be called, the amateur detective 
service of New York, is conducted on veritable laisser faire prin- 
ciples. It has no such restrictions as are imposed upon the 
♦'private inquiry offices" in London, or the "bureaux d'information** 
in Parli^. Any one is free to engage in it, and to make all he can 
out of it. It is often the refuge of dishonest and incompetent men 
who have been discharged from the police service, and who, with 
their wealth of experience and poverty of principle, are enabled to 
filch a good living by it. It is the last resort of broken-down 
lawyejs, and of the "rag-tail and bobtail" of the professional classes. 
It IS the favorite vocation of that not inconsiderable class of people 
who find their chief pleasure in minding their neighbor's business. 
But it includes also maay very estimable men, adapted by nature 
and training for the discharge of their delicate duties; And al- 
though New York may have more than her qaota of bungling and 
incompetent detectives, she has quite as many good officers as she 
needs. 

Most of the private detective work is done through the medi- 
um of the so called detective agencies. These establishments, of 
which there are about fifty in New York, are managed by men be- 
longing to the various classes ju«it described and, as a rule, they 
pay profitably. The "bosses" employ green hands at salaries 
ranging from $7 to $15 a week, and charge their patrons from $7 to 
$10 a day, per man; so that it is to the interest of both "boss"' and 
employee to work as slowly as possible. The result is that delicate 
work is often intrusted to incompetant hands, and sadly bungled; 
that arbitrary arrests are often made, and, worst of all, that many 
of the under-paid "officers" are in a position to make mon^ 



14 PEIVATE DETECTIVES. 

illegitimately— and they are seldom of the class to resist tlie temp- 
tation. A year or so ago, an oflScer was sent to arrest an absconding 
clerk, who had stolen $10,000 of his employer's money. Thongb 
the fugitive did not leave the country, he was never arrested, anci 
the officer never returned. It sometimes happens, too, that these 
detectives, when employed in civil cases, sell their services to both 
aides. The character of these men is so well known that their 
evidence in a court of justice is frequently discredited, in which 
cases the money paid them is simply thrown away. 

One of the most glaring instances of detective rascality the 
writer has ever known is that of a United States Secret Service 
employee, who was engaged some years ago in ferreting out some 
custom-house frauds in this city. In the discharge of his duty, he 
gained access to the books and correspondence of a large import- 
ing firm, and, among the letters that came into his possession, 
were several involving the reputation of a married lady of good 
social standing. He made known his discovery to the husband of 
the lady in question, and by threats of exposure succeeded in 
extorting large sums of money. He continued his black-mailing 
tor years, and finally sold the letters he had stolen for a good round 
sum, on which he has lived ever since. You may see this fellow 
nearly every day; his face is familiar to all New Yorkers, and yet, 
such is the power he has over the welfare and reputation of two 
families, that no one dares denounce him. 

But let us glance for a moment at a pleasanter phase of our 
subject, the clever detection of frauds by competent and honest 
officers. A few months ago, William Biffi, formerly of the Paris 
Secret Service, and detective of the late Assembly Commitee on 
Crime, was engaged by a large piano-firm, in New York to get 
evidence for the prosecution of a manufacturar of "bogus" pianos. 
To accomplish his difficult task, Biffi went into regular partnership 
with the "bogus" firm, mastered all the details of the trade, and, 
when the case came to trial, appeared against his partners as a 
-witness for the prosecution. The result was, of course, perfectly 
fjuccessful. Another very clever detective is Taggart, Col. Tom 
Scott's^special man, who has recently been elected State Senator izi 
Pennsylvania. 

Among the many purposes for which private detectives are 
employed are those of hunting up missing men, women and 
children, securing evidence in divorce cases, watching and pro- 
tecting banks and other public institutions, "spotting" fraudulent 
creditors and suspicious characters generally, and "keeping an 
©ye" on fast young men and family "black sheep." Every bank 



PEIVATE DETECTIVES. 15 

and every hotel in the city has its own private detective, who 
watches all who come and all who go, from the partners and 
officers to the bell-boys and messengers. It is told of the president 
of a well known banking institution, that, now and again, he 
sends for some one of his clerks and holds some such conversation, 
as this: 

"Last Tuesday," he will say, *'you spent the evening in Jones* 
billiard saloon, did you not ?" 

•'Yes, sir," will stammer the astonished clerk. 

*'You took, during the evening, six rounds of drinks with your 
three companions, of which you paid for four, did you not ?" 

"Yes, sir," replies the astonished youth. 

'•Then you went to Mills" and lost $15 at faro, is it not so? 
Don't deny it — I know. I know all about you. 

The President will then go on and tell his man where he liver, 
how he lives, whom he associates with, and where he gets his 
clothes; all this to let him see he is watched, and to warn him 
against wrong doing of any kind. 

Without discussing the wisdom of subjecting a man to 
such a system of surveillance as this, without defending the man 
who has so little self-respect as to submit to it, it must be said that 
it is very effective in keeping young men in the right path. 

Private detectives are frequently employed by stock speculators 
on Wall Street, and it is well known that one prominent broker 
has two of the smartest men in the country in his pay. It is re- 
lated that, a few months ago, a large operator on "the street" 
employed a detective to watch his partner, whom he suspected of 
playing him false. The same officer was, within a few days, 
engaged by the gentleman whom he was watching, to pay similar 
attention to his suspicious partner, whom he suspected of playing 
bim false. When business is dull, the private detective sometimes 
degenerates into a city guide, and employs his time in showing the 
nnsophistic ited countryman the metropolitan elephant. Other 
pleasant and light occupations are those of "shadowing" young 
ladies of good social position, suspected of associating with 
unworthy characters, by no means a rare occurence; or "piping," 
or tracking husbands who go off on suspicious "excursions, "and 
stay out late at their "clubs." These are the social features of the 
detective business, and they have been brought pretty near to 
perfection. 

A knowledge of several languages is a great advantage, and the 
ability to move in various circles of society is almost a necessity 
for a successful detective. To these qualifications shoold he added 



16 THE SOCIETY THIEF. 

a specia--OTe of detective occnpation. Tbia ia a common merit 
with women, many of whom are employed aa «-divorca datectirea 
and who, perhaps, by reason of the mtural inqaisitiveness and 
officionsness of their sex, seem to biiog to their work more entha- 
siasm and not less success than their male rivals. 



TEE SOCIETY IHiEff. 



THE recent exposure of au eminently respectable Bociety-gentle' 
man who, for years past has made a prxctice of attending 
f isbionable balls aud receptions for the purpose of stealing what 
ever articles of value be could lay his hands o ), cirries with it a 
very interestiag and instructive moral. It is hardly probable that 
he represents any considerable number of society thieves, but the 
ease with which h- gained the entree to fashionable and wealthy cir- 
cles suggests the idea that if he has not nL,d,or dees not have, many 
imitators it will not be for the lack of opportunity afforded to 
would-be plunderers to follow his example. This particular thief 
appears to be a man of good family connections, of fair education, 
and of uncomm^n natural ability. He has been possessed of some 
meacs, quite sufficient to enable him to live decently well, but hi«t 
ambition was to shine ia society, to be foremost in the briihant 
gatherings of the beau monde, to dress well, to live likj a wealthy 
man— and this he could not do without a considerably largpr in- 
come than h^ had. This ambition, frequently indulged, in part 
at least, and there b?ing but ona obstacle in the wny of it-j perma- 
nent achievement, viz: his impecuniosity, it became with him a 
perfect ma-jiia and ho determined to indulga himself, at the expense 
of sodiety and at the sacrifice of all moral principle. 

Unfortunately, American society is not at all parficnlar as to a 
man's business occupation, as long ns Le is well-dressed and seema 
to have plenty of money ho may come and go as he pleases and 
*'no questions askei." The society thief knew this and, knowing, 
took advantage of it, to plunder hi^ acquaintances of *'tbe upper 
ten" in ord«='r to gei the means to vie with thf^m in fashionabb ex- 
travagances. How many other men have done the same thins on 
a smaller scale ? And who is more to blame for the possibility of 
such acts than that very society which, in the present instance, id 
the chief victim? 



THE SOCIETY THIEF. 17 

As long as wealth is the one key to so-called good society, un- 
principled men will be found willing and ready to secuie that key 
as best they may; honestly if they can, dishonet^tly if they xuust. 
If the conditions of a good standing m society were more exacting 
and dep' Ddent upon other,and worthier, qaalificai ions than that of 
wealth, the case would be different, and there would be less un- 
scrupulous scrambling for social advauoement. It is all very well 
to prate about the danger of caste-distinctioag in American socie- 
ty; it is very pretty to brig about the glorious equality of all men 
in our country and in our time, but the results are dangerous in 
the extreme, and one of them is just this; that it serves to encour- 
age such dishonesty as the society thief is guilty of. 

The very curse of American life is the one constant scramble 
among all classes to be better and higher th m tbey are. The dry 
goods clerk wants to live like his employer, and steals, that he 
may be enabled to do so; the government clerk wants a higher 
government position, and steals, that he may buy it; the Alderman 
wants to po to Congress, and st?aU, to buy votes; the Congress- 
man wants to ba a Senator, and steals that he may buy the legis- 
latures; and so it goes on through our whole national and social 
life. No one is satisfied, every one wants to rise higher than he 
is, and the powerful motive for all is money — money which must 
be had in some way or the other. If the petty clerk understood, 
once for all, that merit,and merit alone, would bring him social and 
business advancement; if the politician knew absolutely that no 
amount of mriney would secure him social or political prefer- 
ment, unless his money were bucked by real worth; if, in short, wo 
would dethrone the cursed dollar,and re-enthrone moral principle, 
society thieves mig:ht soon cease to exist. Until that time comes, 
if it ever does, people will go on stealing, that they may steal 
enough to secure immunity from punishment. For, unfortunate- 
ly, the effect of our whole politic d life, and, especially, of the re- 
cent compromises with the thieves of political rings, is to teach 
that B ealing is no crime, so long as one steals enough to pay for 
the law's delays, or to oompromise with his yiolims. 



18 SOME CONFIDENCE GAMES. 



SOME CONFIDENCE GAMES.. 



DETECTIVES who detect are not, as a rule, a very talkative 
class of men, but when they do talk they have usually some- 
thing of interest to relate. This is the case with one of the oldest 
and most experienced men in the business, who, in conversation 
with the writer, a few days ago, explained a few of the many 
swindling games played upon greenhorns, coming to New York 
from the country, by professional sharpers and confidence men. 
These are numerous and varied, and, as there is no law against 
them, specifically, they can only be punished when they are suc- 
cessful, and when their perpetrators can be held on the charge 
of actually obtaining money under false pretences. 

One of the oldest and simplest frauds of this class is carried on 
chiefly upon the wharves aad in the streets around the river. It 
is performed thus: A, a confidence man , scrapes an acquaintance 
with some simple-looking countryman, who has a promising air, 
and gets into conversation with him. Alter plying him with drink 
^md finding out something about the state of his finances, he tells 
him that he is about to take a dozen valuable race-horses to Cali- 
fornia, and is seeking a man to help him attend to them on the 
journey. The countryman offers his servicec, and is engaged at a 
liberal salary and the two start to see the horses. On their way, 
they are met by B, the confederate, who angrily demands immediate 
payment of a livery and feed bill which he has against A. A looks 
in his pocket-book, is surprised to find that he has no cash with 
him and offers B a check, which B refuses to take. A, then, 
prevails upon the countryman to cash ttie check or to lend him t!;e 
required amount until he can go to the bank; disappearance of A 
and B; discomfiture of C. 

Another ingenious swindle is known to the police as "the belt 
game" and is played thus: Some wealthy and green old farmer, 
generally a German, comes to New York, with a large sum of money, 
en route to Europe, to visit his family or friends. He wanders, or is 
decoyed, into the office of a swindling exchange broker, who offers 
to sell him English or German gold for American greenbacks at a 
very small commission. The farmer, usually suspicious, asks to 
see the money and is, accordingly shown and has counted out to 
him the genuine coin; but, as he is about to leave, the ''broker" 
warns him that it is not safe to carry so much money about with 
him and, by working upon his fears, persuades him that he ought 



SOME CONFIDENCE GAIVIES. 19 

to get a belt. Strangely enough it happens that the "broker" has 
got a belt, that he can sell him, and into it the farmer puts the 
money himself. When he has finished his task, he is asked into 
the back-oflSce to undress and put it on and, while he is undress- 
ing, the original belt is dexterously changed for one just like it 
but containing nickel coins instead of the real gold. Then the 
•♦broker," solicitous for the welfare of his victim whose entire 
confidence he has gained by this time, accompanies him to the 
dock and sees him safely on board his ship. Even when this 
precaution is not taken, the victim is usually too careful of his 
money to take it from his body and examine it until he is on 
board. 

The trick recently sought to be played upon Mr. Shillaber is 
well known and almost " played out.'' Swindler No. 1 approach- 
es a countryman on the streets and grasping him by the hand, 
exclaims, "Why my dear Mr Smith, how do you do? When did 
you come from Racine?" The man thus accosted in nine cases 
out of ten sees through the trick, but in the tenth case he will 
reply, smiling, *• Why my name ain't Smith, stranger, nor I don't 
come from Racine, I am Jones of Peoria! " Swindler No. 1 
apologizes, of course, and goes away to his accomplice and, to use 
the police-phrase, "gives him the steer," Swindler No. 2 now 
follows Jones all day and, towards evening or, it maybe, next day 
approaches him with; "Hallo. Jones, how are jou? Ain't seen 
you since I was down to Peoria last year. Hows the folks?'* 
Jones does not know the man, shows it by his looks, when, the 
swindler, reading his thoughts, adds: "Guess you hardly 
remember me, shaved my whiskers off since I met you there at the 
hotel." Now Jones feels more easy, ho has been having a few 
drinks and is afraid his memory may be bad; any way he allows 
his new acquaintance to show him around, takes a few more 
drinks and, before the day is over, he has either cashed a check 
taken a lottery ticket or bad his pocket picked. 

A very simple and frequently successful dodge, played chiefly 
by the youthful sharper, was next described by the detective as 
follows: a well-dressed man walking along the streets, usually at 
night, is accosted by a small boy who, in a mysterious manner 
says to him, holding a ring, *' say, mister, here's a ring wot I 
found; looks like gold; won't yer buy it? I don't want it." 
Usually the cupidity of the man is excited and, thinking the boy 
does not know the value of the trinket, which has initials engraved 
on it, he looks around to see that the coast is clear and, giving the 
youth a couple of dollars, hurries off with his prize. Ho is afraid 



20 80ME CONFIDENCE GAMES. 

to look at his purchase until he gets home and then he examines 
it, perhaps tests it, and invariably findd that a dollar a gross will 
buy him as many more such rings as he may have occasion for. 

The sawdust-swindle, which has been frequently exposed, ia 
one of the oldest of its kind and used to pay well; bat it is going 
out of practice of late. It was eenerally conducted by a firm, hav- 
ing an office in some respectable part of town, which entered into 
correspondence with younj^ men all over the country, oflering to 
sell them counterfeit money at about the rate of $10 for $1. Tho 
parties so addressed would send on the money ana receive a box 
of sawdust or the sawdust would be sent C. O. D. and paid foe 
before the box was opened. Another trick of the same sort and 
one which is constantly played is that of bogus watches. This is 
monopolized by one or two large firms in this city, one of which 
at least has made a fortune by it and is v,ell-known and closely 
watched by the police, but without much effect. The bogus-watch 
firm writes to people m various parts of the country, on regular 
business paper and in regular business style, informing them that 
their gold watches, left for repairs, are now ready and that if the 
amount of the bill, usually $10, is paid they will be sent by ex- 
press and otherwise they will be sold to pay expenses. Tha 
parties so addressed, think there is some mistake, fondly imagine 
that there is a chance of getting a gold watch for $10 and s nd on 
the money. They either receive in reru*.n a brass watch worth 
about $2 or, as is sometimes the case, they never hear aaythiug 
more about it. Of the same cla-s of tricks, are those of advertising: 
•'a fine sewing machine for $10 "and then sending on a small 
instrument worth $2. A large number of the so-called Spiritualist 
mediums advertisaraents are of this class. Tiae spiritualist papers 
are full of advertisements of *' lady mediums " and others offering 
to answer letters from Spirit-land, to tell the past and forecast tho 
future for fees ranging from 50 cents to $2 per message. Need- 
less to say they are traps set to catch fools. 

Among the commonest street-swindlers are; the Mephistopbe- 
lian foreigner who approaches you with an offer to soil smuggled 
silk or laces or cigars *• dirt-cheap ; * tha man who finds a pocket 
book full of money and insists that you dropped it and will take 
a moderate reward for its return and vanishes before you discover 
that the contents are counterfeit ; the old lady who has lost her 
pocket-book and wants to borrow twenty-five cents to get 
home to Brooklyn; the small boy who has had •• all my 
papers stolen, boss, by a big boy " and wants twenty-five cents to 
get more; the woman who has just "been discharged horn tti« 



GIFTS TO THE BRIDE. 21 

Treasury department '* and wants money to get a lodging;*' these 
and others too numerous to mention, swsll the long-l st of profes- 
sional swindle-s woo prey upon the uasophisiicited couutryman 
and the credul hi-j city man. The mle fraud is particularly 
versatile, wh<^u business is slack he will pier pockets, "steer" 
f >r gimbliug hoases, beg or burglarize, — he is not particular. 
Usually he is loo clever for the police and hence his usual 
immunity from punishment. 



Q1FT8 TO THE BRID& 



J) 



TIE following advertisement hag aopeaved daily for months ia 
one of the New York papers, and was upon its firstappeurancd 
hailed as a bit of irony: 

JJPLICATE WEDDING PRESENTS 

BOUGHT OB EXCHANGKD. 

Address J. H. Johnston, Jeweller, 150 Bowery. 

It is a genuine business advertisement, however. The writer 
called upon Mr. Johnstou last waek at his store aad found him 
willing to ta.k. A jeweller by trade, Mr. Jobnston is a man of 
many resources and one who prides himself upon his knowledge of 
human nature. He is, moreover, a m<a of f^ood education, aad 
entertain*rd Walt Wh tman a his hjase when he was ia the city. 
Iq itnsw-^r to the reporter's inquiries Mr. Jobns'oa said that the 
jewelry business is dull jnst niw, but the traffic in "duplicate 
wedding presents" is p^rtiLuUily lively. He receives numerous 
answers to his advertisement, some of them from people well kaown 
in society ; he visits tbem at their houses, appraises their goods 
and boy-; tbem, if thej wish to sell. 

" Wh it do you pay for goods and how ? " asi^ed the writer. 

'•For silverware, " was the reply, • I piy by the ounce, say 
from *1 to $3 an ounce. For jeweliy I piy whit I consider a fair 
market price, according to the value of the articles. What do I do 
viLh my purchases? Why, I sell them again, either to ibe eas- 
terners of my store or to deiilers at a small advance on the purchase 
price, andalways for less than th^y could possibly be boui^ht fDT 
in t!ie regular way. Here, for eximple, is a fine silver kettle I 
bought at half its actual value aud pat it in the window. Yesterday 
one of the tirm that made it called in and offered to buy it at my 



23 GIFTS TO THE BRIDE, 

own price. He said he did not want it "kicking around town " 
with his mark on it. Here is a lot of silver which recently figurer' 
among the presents at a fashionable wedding. In cost $350, and 
weighs 150 ounces. I paid $300 for it, and I will sell it for $350. 
And here is a solid silver tea set that cost $900, and I can sell it for 
$400 and make a good profit. " 

♦'What class of people sell their wedding presents ? " 

" All classes, especially in these times. . Money is loo valuable 
to be locked up in useless silver kettles and urns that you have to 
pay for keeping in a safe deposit company. Whenever I read of a 
stylish wedding somewhere, I look at the list of presents, and I 
know that I shall have a customer before long. They all claim to 
sell only duplicate presents, of course. It is none of my business 
to ask where the duplicates are. I buy whatever I can sell at a 
profit, voila tout. Of course, my business is confidential ; I am as 
silent as the tomb. I have to be, for mutual confidence is an 
essential of the business." 

A recent purchase of Mr. Johnston's is a beautiful pearl neck 
lace which, he says, recently adorned the neck of a bride whose 
marriage was a society sensation; another is a pair of bracelets 
valued in the market at $1,200, and still another is an 8-carat dia- 
mond, for which he asks $7,000. "You have no idea of the extent 
of this business," said he, showing these articles: "why, there 
are families in this city who have been living ever since the panic 
of 1873 upon their plate and jewelry, and keeping up appearances, 
too. See that solid silver pitcher; that was presented years ago to 
a well-known gentleman by A. T. Stewart, Wm. B, Astor, Brown 
Brothers and others. He died some time ago and the pitcher 
passed into the hands of some relatives or friends who gothard-up, 
and here it is. I will sell it for $250. There on the side were the 
names of Stewart and Astor. I erased, them, and if you want to 
present it to Mayor Grace, I will engrave his name on it and 
give it to you cheap. '» 

•* How long has the traffic in wedding presents been going 
on?" 

"Not more than five or six years. It is more general now 
than ever. Money is in demand; plate and paste take the place of 
silver and diamonds; nobody is any the wiser and several people 
are so much the richer. This is a practical age, and this business 
grows out of its practicality." 



GEINDERS OF THE ORGAN. 2S 



QBINDEBSOFTEE 0B9AN. 



THERE are about 300 organ-grinders in New York City. They 
are mostly Italians, about 90 per cent of them coming from 
the sunny South, the other 10 per cent being made up of Germans, 
Frenchmen and one-legged ex-American soldiers. They pay no 
license for the privilege of pursuing their painful profession and, 
judging from the police records, which show that only ten were 
arrested last year, they are, except when operating upon their 
instruments of torture, peaceably disposed people. The Italian 
organ-grinder is usually an ex-peasant farmer who, failing in 
business, or infringing some law in his own land, comes to America 
relying upon the repotation of his countrymen for musicai talent 
to make a living. He is usually rather short of money, and fre- 
quently has to borrow the means to buy his instrument. Rarely 
he tramps over the Alps, and landing in Paris buys his organ there 
for much less than it would cost here, and brings it with him. If 
he comes here without an organ, he can get one only by paying 
cash for it, as one man has a monopoly of the business, and tran- 
sacts it on C. 0. D. terms. This man is Mr. Taylor, of Chatham 
square and New Bowery, who has the only street organ factory on 
this continent, and one of three which are known in the world. 
The other two are those of Eimhoff & Co., of London, whose ins- 
truments are manufactured at the village of Volkirk, in the Black 
Forest, and of Gaviole & Co., of Paris, who make their own organs. 
These three houses make all the instruments in use, and renew 
each other's goods as frequently as they need renewing. 

The hand organ is certainly of ancient origin. It is an im- 
itation of the church organ, whose invention is attributed to 
Archimedes about 220 B. C, and which was first brought to Europe 
from the Greek empire and applied to religious uses in churches 
A. D. 657. The hand-organ is constructed mainly on the same 
principle, but on a smaller scale. A bellows within the instrument 
is worked by turning a winch, and, by the same action, by means 
of an endless screw, a cylinder or drum is turned. On this cylin- 
der the tunes are set in brass pins or staples, at the distances re- 
quired by the lengths and successions of the notes, just as on the 
cylinder of a musical box. The pins raise keys, which press down 
stickers and open valves, admitting air to the pipes used. Each 
instrument has an average of about ten tunes. When the perform- 
er has played enough of one tune, he pulls a stop which shifta the 
cylinder and puts the brass pins in position to play upon the keys 



24 GBINDEBS OF THE ORGAN. 

of the music in the next tune. Mr. Taylor explained the simple 
process by which this is done, and said he can change one or two 
tunns at a time by simply taki-jg out the pius aad replacing them 
by new ones, or. if several new tunes aie needed, he pits iu a new 
cylinder. Composer* and mu>ic publishers frequently send nim 
their latest tunes, with requests that he will put tciem on his organs ; 
but be selects only tucb as are popular or are likely to become so. 
His sales average over one hundred organs a year, and he some- 
times turns ou'. three or four a week. These vary in price from 
$100 to $200 for a common t^treet organ, to which extra cylinders 
of nine tunes each can be added at a cost of $35. The side-show 
organs, witb forty-two keys, four stop-pipes, nine tunes with cym- 
bals, bells, castanets and iiumpets, and tbe automaton br^iss band 
wich sixty keys, four stOD-pipes, tbirty-five brass trumpets, large 
and small drums, triangles and nine tunes, wbich are seen rarely 
in tbe streets, but frequently at cheap shows, cost all the way 
from $500 to S2,0C0 each. 

Mr. Taylor sends organs all over the Continent and has a large 
number of customers in South America and Cuba. When any 
one orders an organ he selects his own tunes, the manufacturer 
gets the music a-jd transfers the notes to the cylinder of tbe organ 
by means of tbe brass pins alluded to. A large part of the busi- 
ness consists of cbanging tunes. The South American orgaa 
grinder changes most frequently, as he has to vary his reper'oire 
wi^h every revolution He sends to Mr. Taylor the piano-forto 
accompaniment of some revolutionary air or Spanish fandango, and 
receives his organ shortly after metamorpbosed into a new instru* 
xnent. Just before St. P.itrick's Day Mr. Taylor had calls from 
numerous gentlemen of ihe organ grinding profession and there 
"Was a great demand for 'Wearing of the Gieen." **St. Patrick's 
Day Parade "and "Killarney'a Lakes. " When an organ-grinder, 
for some reason or anotber, selects a route which is inbabitated 
largely by people cf one nationality he changes the tune ou his 
instrument to buit their tastes. Thus if he goes into a G'-rman 
quarter he tikes the " Wacut am Rheiti" witli him, if to a French 
quarter tbe " Marseillaise, " if to an Irish quarter he selects the 
lively airs cf Erin. Tbe organ giinder is nothing if not cosmo- 
politan; be is not committed to the music of the pas*, present or 
future, and takes to the air^ of Strauss, Offenbach, Verdi cr Men- 
delssohn with a philosophicil equanimity nnd a truly artistic 
impartiality. It must be added, however, that he plays them all 
•with equal ease. 

The organ business is conducted on a cash basis. The grinder 



GBINDEES OF THE OEGAN. 25 

gets ready money and pays ready money. Mr. Taylor says tto 
only time iie ever lost any money was just after the close of tho 
war, when a number of one-legf?ed and one-armed soldiers weie 
ambitious to embark upon an crgan-grindiiig career. The^ had 
no money, but several gentlemen, full of gratitude for their brave 
deeds, went security for them. They got their organs, and Mr. 
Taylor, to use his own words, got •' stuck for $4,000 " 

The barrel-organ, at present in use, has alaiost completely 
superseded the old-fashioned hurdy-gurdy or piano-organ, which 
was a string instrument and only fit to play jigs. The barrel- 
organ is a pipe instrument and, wben in tune, which it generally 
is not, is not to be despised. The great appolonicon, which mad& 
such a sensation in London some yeors ago, was nothing 
more tLan a gigantic barrel-organ. It stood 24 feet high and 
30 feet brood. It could be played by three large cylinders, or by 
six perfoimers on six sets of keys, and was the largest hand-prgai* 
ever made. 

The organ-grinder's existence is rather precarious. The profits 
of his calling fluctuate, not only with the state ot business but al« 
80 with the seasons. In wet weather, when there are bijt fev^ 
people on the street, he, of course, makes less than in fine weathex 
when he plays to large, tbough transient, audiences. In the sum- 
mer, and particulaiy in the poorer neighborhoods, where the girls 
being deprived of the pleasures of hotel-bops at the watering 
places, sometimes get up impromptu Germans on the sidewalk??, 
he does a rattliug good business and is occasionally able to lay up 
a little for the rainy and snowy days of winter. At all seasons oi 
the year the organ-grinder, of all men, battens on the misfortanes 
of others; for, strange to say among a music-loving people, he ia 
most liberally paid when the payment is conditional upon his 
going as far away as possible, and he often receives generous and 
unexpected gifts when he happens, by chance, to get into a street 
where some one is ill, dead or dying. Most of them average 
about 50 cents a day at this time of year. They sometime? make 
a dollar, but not often. In the summer they average from 75 cents 
to a dollar a day. It costs the organ grinder, according t,o his 
own account, 50 cents a day to live, and all be gets over that sum 
Is clear profit. One of the class, who seems to have traveled much 
told me once in very bad French that he had played four months 
in Paris before coming here, and preferred New York to the 
French capital He used to average 40 centimes (about 8 cents) 
a day there, and he makes about 50 c^nts a day here. In Paris, 
he said, he used to get most of his money from the women, who 



86 GEINDEKS OP THE OKGAN. 

threw it to him from the windows; here he gets most patronage 
from the men who pass bim in the street He added that tb» 
people are not attracted to the windows here by the sound of an 
organ as tbev are in Pans. I asked if there was an understanding 
among the organ-grinders as to the roate each should take, and 
what woald be done if two met on the same block. The answer 
was that no understanding existed among the profession, and 
that when two of its members come in contact they both play oa 
with all their muscle until the one who plays louder, drives thd 
other one away and remains master of the field. 

The organ-grinder who makes the most money is usually the one 
▼ho goes around with a woman and a few children, whoareuuder- 
fetuod to be his. At the end of two or three tunes, the woman» 
Infant in arm, goes into the shops and bar-rooms in the neighbor- 
hood, and usually manages to scrape together a few coppers, while 
the other children accost the passers-by, and sometimes with fair 
results. When an organ-grinder cannot afford the luxury of a 
wife and some children, he gets the next best thing—a monkey — 
which he usually bays of one of his countrymen who deal in those 
animals. The monkey is often so trained that he can beg quite as 
importunately as a wife or child, and, as he costs less to keep and 
clothe, he is considered more economicaL Besides, he is funny. 
Which a wife and children sometimes are not. When an organ* 
fjriLder has neither a wife and children nor a monkey, he some- 
times has an instrument, the front of which is fitted with dancing 
puppets, but this is a useless piece of extravagance, as the puppets 
cannot beg, will not work and do not add mateiially to the attract- 
ions of the organ. On the the contrary, thev simply bring to- 
gether around the performer a crowd of dirty little boys and girls 
who block up the sidewalk, cause the organ-man to swear in his 
native Italian, and sometimes provoke the policeman to order him 
to "move on." 

So much for the Italian organ-grinder. The one-legged oi 
one armed ex-soldier, in military costume arrayed, who is familiar 
to all, occupies a little higher rank in the protession. Instead of 
trudging around and discoursing mufic with a liberal and undis- 
criminating hand all over the city, he takes up his position at the 
corner of some leading thoroughfare where, in time, he becomes 
known and is constituted a sort of pensioner on all the business 
men in the neighborhood. This musical ex-follower of Mars often 
makes a fair income and is looked upon with charitable and 
patriotic indulgence. Just after thp close of t he war the military 
organ grinders were alarmicgly numerous in our streets, but they 



HUMOES OF THE STEEET 27 



bave decreased of late to tolerable proportion"'. Many of tbem 
Jhave their discliarges from the army framed and hung in front of 
their instruments as a sort of guarantee of good faith. Besides the 
■male organ-grinders, there are a number of women in the profession 
oa their own account. The most noteworthy are those who go 
around town with a very small instrument on a very large truck 
in one end of which are huddled two or three children of tender 
years who usually do the vocal part of the performance by howling 
lustily while their ostensible mother grinds the instrument. This 
little family group is generally completed by a poor, sickly little 
girl, a few years older than the babies in the truck, whe goes round 
with a tin cup soliciting alms. This is, perhaps, the best paying 
branch of the busiuess. 

Last come the poor old women who are seen nightly on Broad- 
way as the theatres are closing, just seen by the light of a dim candle 
feebly burning on the organ, grinding away at a small and peculiar 
looking box which emits faint sounds as of a half-smothered infant 
appealing for help. One of this class is also found every afternoon 
on Twenty-third street, near the Fifth Avenue Hotel, with an in- 
strument whose chief recommendation is that it cannot be heard. 
Where it was made, when or by whom, no man knowetb; it 
might, judging from its age and size, have served as a model for 
the original article said to have been made by Archimedes 2,000 
jears ago. 



EUMOBS OF THE STBEETS. 



"TF, as some carping criacs contend, American humor consists, 
-*- mainly in bad spelling and grotesque exaggerations, then the 
sign-boards of the metropolis are truly humorous. That the 
humor is frequently unintentional does not at all detract from its 
power to amuse, as may be seen from a few specimens of street 
eigus given below. 

A Fourth Avenue confectioner has a sign in his shop-window 
which reads "Pies Open All Night"; an undertaker in the same 
thoroughfare advertises "everything requisite for a first-class fun- 
cral"; a Bowery placard reads, "Horae-Made Dining Booms, 
Family Oysters"; a West Broadway restaurateur sells "Home- 
Made Pies, Pastry and Oysters "; a Third Avenu<=» "dive" offers for 
fiale " Coffee and Cakes off the Griddle,'' and an East Broadway 



28 HUMORS OF THE STREETS. 

caterer retails "Fresh Salt Oysters" and ** Larger Beer." A Ful- 
ton Street tobacconist calls himself a "Speculator in Smoke," and 
a purveyor of summer drinks has invented a new draught which 
he calls by the colicky name of "Eolian Spray." A Sixth Avenue 
barber bangs out a sign reading *' Boots Polished Inside," and on 
Varick Street, near Carmine, there are "Lessons given on the Piano 
with use for Practice." Cloth Cuttt and Bastd " is the cabalistio 
legend on the front of a millinery shop on Spring Street. 

A mender of old umbrellas has a sign-board reading: ** This 
is the celebrated umbrella hospital, where broken bones are set 
without pain or use of chloroform. No incurable cases sent out I 
Invalids called for and sent home sound." A Broadway dealer in 
"Gents* Furnishing Goods" sells "Patent Irrepressible Shirts," 
and a Brooklyn dealer in head-covering calls himself a *• a practical 
and classical hatter." A Fourth Avenue hosier deals in "perfect 
gentlemen's outfits." An East Broadway livery stable is described 
by its proprietor as "Hotel de Horse." "Crosbie's Country Pork 
established 1859,'' is sold on Ninth Avenue, and " Ladies' lunch 
with polite attendants " is to be had at a moderate price on Four- 
teenth Street. On South Fifth Avenue is a sis[n which reads "wash- 
ing whitewashing and going out to days* work done in the back 
room," and on Centre Street is a sign-board bearing the inscrip- 
tions, "Calsoming & Wall Coloring, Boilers, Grates, & Furnesses 
Set, Ovens Built, Sewers and Drains put in Curbs, Gutters, and 
Repairing. All branches attended to." A Chatham Street shirt 
store is kcown as ' ' Society for the Encouragement of Wearing Clean 
Shirts," and a sign on Fiftieth Street near Ninth Avenue reads, 
"kindling wood yard furniture removed with care." A Brooklyn 
express wagon, apparently owned by a disciple of Josh Billings, 
has this inscription, " Orl Kines of horling Dun." " Fancy Goods, 
La .v blanks and fishing tackle "are sold at a store in Hoboken. 
" Mrs. Captain McCoy, teacher of practical navigation," resides on 
Madison Street. 

It is strange how oddly names contrast sometimes, and some- 
time agree with the vocations of thoir owners, thus Ig. Weinbeer 
keeps a wine and beer saloon as do also Messrs. Kaltwasser & Co, 
B arup & Oarraher is the name of a shipping firm, and the Misses 
Hooper deal in hoopskirts. Sartorius is a tailor on Tliird Avenue. 
Jacob Abies brews, and Peter Ahles sells beer. Butcher & Butler 
are in the plumbing business. Mr. Carmaik is a driver, and Mr. 
Carmen is a carman. Coffin is a druggist, Mr. Coppers is a plum- 
ber, and Mr. Coppersmith is a baker. Mr. Costumer is a cigar- 
maker. Messrs. Good & Mercy are in the hat trade, bat Mr. Hatter 



UU£ T£K£MEKT-HOUSEa Sd 

ia a shoemaker and none of the Shoemakers makes shoes. Mr. 
Monliey deals in monkeys, and other animals, Mr. Oak is a carver^ 
and Mr. Ode follows the very unpoetical calling of a confectioner. 
Mr. Seaman is a tailor, Mr. Tar is a caulker, and Weiscbman db 
fleischman sell sweet-breads. Good names for sign-board painters 
who work by the foot are those of Calvocoressi and Eodoconachi, 
Francis Przygviski and Mr. Eeczkiewrez are united in the shoe- 
making business. Mr. Hugueninvuillemin is a watchmaker, Ilium 
<George, not "fuit") is a butcher, and Homer is a tailor. Virtue 
is in tne book business, Hell a carpenter and Quack a broker. 
Byron sells whiskey and Tennysoii is an engineer, while Miltoa is 
6 news agent ^nd Fielding a druggist. Wiiiiam u. Bryant is a 
Broadway tailor, Happy js a Fifth Avenue tailor, JoU}' is a Broad- 
way dyer, Jobn Bull is a moulder. Frenchman makes shoes, Devill 
Is a painter and Augel a maker of pianos. 

To instance a few peculiarities of sign-board literature : Cigars 
are described as ••segars," *'8igar8"and ''cigarres ;" barber shops 
are known as "tonsorial palaces," ''hair dressing parlors," "shav- 
ing saloons," and "shaving and hair cutting rooms." The low 
concert Faloons on the Bowery and Chatham street are all "gardens ** 
— Belvidere Garden, Olympic Garden, and any number of Volks- 
gartens. One of these places advertises " a high class entertain* 
m&Ski by the very best artists m the city." 



OJTR TENEMENT-HOUSES, 



THEBE are, according to the records of the Department of Build- 
ings, 21,000 tenement-houses in the city of New York in a 
total of 78,0>.0 buildings of all kinds. Taken all through the city, 
(he new and the old, the first and the second classes, they average 
iour stories in height^ and are constructed to hold two .families and 
a half to each floor, or ten families to a house. Accordingly, if all 
these buildings are full, the tenement house population of New 
York is 210,000 families, which, at five persons to a family, would 
inake 1,050,000 men, women and children. This is evidently an 
over-estimate, but certain experienced 'agents of tenement-houses 
on the east bide say that 20 per cent, is all that need be deducted 
ibr houses or parts of houses not occupied. That deduction leavett 
« net tenement-hoose population of 840,000 souls. 



80 OUB TENEMENT-HOUSES. 

It has been said that the tenements averaged two and a half 
families to a floor, or ten families to a house, but the population is 
not at all equally distributed; in some buildings there are as many 
as five families on a floor, and in others only one or two. Most of 
the buildings are so built as to effect the greatest possible economy 
in space, in ventilation and in safety. High and narrow, with 
contracted hallways and walls of the minimum thickness allowed 
by the Department of Buildings, with little or no open space in the 
rear, and frequently a rear tenement building instead of a court, 
they are baruly bearable as places of habilntion in the winter, and 
still less 60 in the summer. Indeed, it has become a common 
si^ht to see their inmates sleeping.jon summer nights, on the roofs 
of their dwellings or in carts in front of them rather tban suffocate 
within doors. It is their cheapnei>s and tbeir cheapness only that 
gives them any attraction to the poor, and their cheapness is due 
to the possibility of packing tbem with tenants and to the practioe 
of building them on the most economical plan. 

The tenement-houses are not, as many suppose, confined ex- 
'Clusively to the lower districts; they are found all over the city ?nd 
fringe the island on the extreme east and extreme west sides uU the 
T7ay up town. The most fashionable part of New York is flanked 
by them on either side, and a straight line drawn from Murray 
Hill to first avenue on the one side and from Murray Hill to Tenth 
avenue on the other would discover some of the very worst of these 
dwellings. They are constantly increasing, too; within the past 
eighteen months 800 new ones have been put up, some down town 
below Houston street, and others up town as far as Harlem. The 
(distress of the time has not relieved them of their usual class of 
tenants so much as it has tilled them with a new class, which 
formerly inhabited private houses. The cheaper tenements are 
better patronized than ever, and land-owners who would not ven- 
ture to build ordinary dwelling houses to stand vacant are willing^ 
to take advantage of the present low price of labor by erecting 
tenements, which insure a safe and steady, though slow, return for 
the investment. 

The neighborhood of First and Second avenues, between about 
Twentieth and Thirtieth streets, abounds in tenement-houses of 
tue lower class, inhibited for the most part by Irish and Irish- 
American working-men, or men who would worit if they had the 
of)port unity. The buildings are high and narrow, constructed to 
1 old as many people as possible, without more regard than is. 
compulsory — that is, than is compelled— to health, comfort or 
&;fety. In most of these houses there are from fifieen to twenty 



OUB TENEMENT-HOUSES. tL 

families, and in some there are more huddled together, and making 
life bearable as best they can. The crowding would be less toler- 
able but for the fact that, by their male tenants at least, the tene- 
ments are only used almost exclusively for sleeping places. All 
day the men are away at work, and in the evenings and on Sunday 
they pass most of their time in the parks or in and around the 
saloons which flourish in the n ighborhood, and of which as one 
of its features, more will be said anon. In the spring and sum- 
mer mont. s the women, too, forsake the close buildings for the not 
much fresher air of the curb-stone and pavements outside. A 
walk along First avenue, in the locality indicated, after dusk, at 
this time of the year, will discover the door-steps alive with women 
nursing their infants and with young girls gossiping among them- 
selves or flirting with the young men; the sidewalk and roadway 
literally swarming with children screaming and shouting at play, 
while the scene is lit up by the brilliant lights of the myriad liquor 
saloons. Evidently the life of this quarter of the city is to be seen 
principally in the open street, and especially after the close of the 
working day. The sights and sounds are not at all like those of an 
American citj . They recall rather a Saturday night scene in the 
back streets of Dublin or in the Irish quarter of London. The 
names on the shop-windows and sign-boards are, almost without 
exception, Irish. The conversation of the old people leaves no 
room for dDubt as to their race and origin, and the accent and tone 
of the younger people tell at once of their descent. There is the 
good-natured chaffing, the merry laugh and the occasional snatch 
of a song that are always found in an Irish gathering, and the 
courtesy to strangers that is characteristic of the Irish people. 
Many if not most of the people bear unmistakable signs of poverty 
and the most prosperous looking are prosperous laboring men. 

Perhaps the most noticeable feature of this tenement-house 
district is the extraordinary number of liquor saloons it contains. 
At a casual glance one would say that there is a grog shop to every 
five houses; on one block there are no less than seven. These are 
as different in appearance from the German lag«>r-beer saloons of 
the lower districts as the people who patronize them are from the 
German beer drinkers. Instead of the low-roofed, dark basement, 
with its modest little counter and its sombre proprietor dispensing 
beer from behind, one seees large, showy stores, bri lliantly lighted 
without and gorgeous within with long mirrors reflecting the array 
of shining and vari-colorr d glasses ranged along the counter. The 
dispenser of drinks is usually a short, thick-set man, with clean 
shaven face, snowy shirt and high collar, spotless apron and crystal 
pin, who looks as though he expects to be an "aldhirman from the 



32 OMPLEMENTS OF CEIME. 

deestrict." The keepers of these places are, indeed, people of con- 
siderable political "influence," Almost without excepiiou they 
are members ef the district or general commitees of their districts 
in some one of the various political parties. They are captains of 
tens and fifties of the retainers of the local political magnates; 
their •' places " are the political headquarters of the various facdons 
in the various election districts, and they are visited periodically 
by actual or expectant candidatas for office who wish to "keep in 
with the boys/' The people who patronize these saloons contrast 
strongly in appearance with the people who keep them. Visit one 
of them at almost any time after dusk (Sundays included, though 
then one must enter by the side door), and the same group will b« 
found. Around the door, aad sitting on the boxes and barrels just 
within, are half a score of idle youths with trousers tight at knee, 
hat at-one-side, a torn and greasy coat and soiled linen, set oft with 
the inevitable dollar store pin. At the bar. just entered by the 
••family entrance," are two or three women, whose dress indicates 
great poverty, waiting with their tin cans to be served with "a 
quart of ale, Patsy, for the ould man." On the other side of a 
stack of empty champagne cases are two or three seedy-looking 
young men and one m<udlin old man drinking 5 cent beer and 
10 cent whiskey, and talking politico. The money pours in all the 
time. Times may be ever so hard, but the saloon does a good 
business, and the saloon-keeper is an object of respect to his seedy 
customers, for his word at " the Hall " or with " the Aldbirman " 
is supposed to be and sometimes U good for a job on '*the big 
pipes " or "^at the parks." 



IMPLEMENTS OF CRIME. 



SINCE the old fashioned modes of robbery by highwaymen and 
garroters have given place to the scientific burglaries of mod- 
ern days, a demand has been created for thie^'es implements, mad* 
with all the improvements obtained by means of our advanced 
mechanical science and increased general facilities. This demand 
has not been unheeded by that largB and influential class of people 
who are always ready to turn an opportune penny, be it honestly 
or otherwise, and burglars ot our time and country can boast of 
having as perfectly finished tools as any reputable workmen. 
The largest manutactories of burglars' tools are in New York, 
jphiladelphia and the West, and the men who are engaged in th* 



IMPLEMENTS OF CEIME. 3$ 

business are frequently of a class who would never contemplate 
any direct deed of crime. The tools are made partly in one place 
and partly in another, no maker ever turning out a complete in- 
strument for fear of discovery and conseqaent trouble. A 
complete set of tools numbers forty pieces, and is worth from $250 
to $400, so that the manufacturers carry on a paying business. It 
is very difficult to secure the conviction of makers for lack of 
direct evidence, and even when one is caught the punishment in- 
flicted is not commensurate with the offense. Judge Dowling 
once convicted a blacksmith and sentenced him to but six months' 
imprisonment 

One of the best collections of burglar's tools and implements 
of crime is that which is kept in the Charles Street Police Station. 
All the articles have been taken from criminals, and most of them 
have done much service. The collection includes pistols, daggers, 
knives of every kind, from a common penknife to a huge carving 
knife, hatchets, 'axes, swords, caces, slung-shots, brass knuckles, 
billies, burglars' ladders, jimmies, skeleton keys, masks, fine tooth 
saws, crowbars and stilettos. Worthy of particular mention is a 
complete set of brass and steel knuckles found upon Jeremiah 
Harrington the proprietor of a place on Mulberry st eet, wherein 
congregated some years ago a cosmopelitaa gang of cut-throata of 
the worst kind. Ilarrington himself has been twice tried for 
murder. A sharp-poin-ted butcher knife, with a white bone handle, 
is the instrument with which Donald Magaldo stabbed and killed 
John Kyland in Baxter Street in July, 1868. A common bone- 
handled razor, still blood-stained, was used by Amanda Thompson 
to cut her sleeping husband's throat from ear to ear. Amanda is 
6till spending the rest of her natural life in State Prison. A little 
two-bladed pocket-knife, which was used by Jack Shannon, the 
notorious ticket-of -leave man, to cut the throat ot John Hastrem 
in 1866, is also on exhibition here. Shanni^n fled the country and 
was never punished for this crime but he is now serving a term of 
fifteen years' imprisonment. 

The collection includes also a large bowie-knife, eighteen in- 
ches long, which Richard Scmers threw at a little girl on the 
street; a sword two feet long, part of sword-cane, was the instru- 
ment used by Lowenthal in the murder of Hofl'man in 1868 ; a piece 
of three-ply manilla rope is kept as a memento of three famous 
executions at which it c'id service, viz., the hanging of Donnelly in 
1868, and of Cline and Wooley in 1869; a large hickory stick, three 
inches in diameter, covered wit a fur, was used by two roughs, 
Murray and Johnson, in assaulting with intent to murder and rob, 
Mr. Du Bois, while he was carrying $2,500 with which to pay off 



34 IMPLEMENTS OF CBIME. 

the teachers in the publio schools. Johnson and Murray are both 
in State Prison. A numbsr of axes have nearly all been used in 
cases of wife-murder. The axe seems to be, and to have been, 
from the days of Henry Vlil to now, the weapon most popular 
among husbands who desire to become widowers. AH weapons in 
the Cbarles Street collection are labeled wi^h the histories attaching 
to them. It appears from these notes that of one hundred cases 
of murder there recorded, only about five per cent, of the murder- 
€rs have been hanged. 

Other articles of interest are a black silk mask and beard, 
worn by a notorious bank burglar, now in jail, and a folding wir« 
ladder used by burglars for scaling from one roof to another, or 
from window to window. This ladder is so made that it folds 
easily into a compass sufficiently small to allow of its being carried 
in a valise or even in an overcoat pocket. There are numerous 
counterfeit notes and dies found on a counterfeiter who was ar- 
rested while at work in Hoboken ; a gold badge of peculiar formation 
with a cutting in strange hieroglyphics, is exhibited as a trophy 
taken from one of the boldest highway robbers of his day, and a 
ring of skeleton keys, forty-nine in number, a ring containing al- 
most every description of key used by hotel-thieve?, and a kit of 
burglar's tools found on George Stanley, the infamous English 
burglar, were all taken from notorious criminals. In a corner by 
themselves hang a lot of rough-looking instruments used by 
^ Dr." John B. Dennis, a mal-practitioner, in performing an opera 
tlon upon a woman who died under the treatment. 

A portait of Felix Sanchez reminds one that he was arrested in 
1859 for killing his father-in-law. He escaped to New Orleans, 
where, being a negro, he was sold as a slave. Preferring to test 
the clemency of New Yorls juries to remaining in bondage, ho 
gave himself up for the murder, and was sent to New York for trial. 
Here he was convicted and sentenced to death, but succeeded in 
obtainin» a stay of proceedings. During this respite he committed 
a murderous assault upon a keeper, and was sentenced to five years 
in the State Prison. While serving oatlhis time he became insane, 
and was sent to the Lunatic Asylum at Auburn, and remained 
there until recently, n-hen bd H^ transferred to a similar iiistita« 
tion on Blackwell'a Isla&d 



A COMMUNISTIC BAlfQUET. 35 



A COMMUNISTIC BANQUET,* 

THE annual Good Friday banquet of the Society of the Refugees 
of the Commune, held for the purpose of expressing the con- 
tempt of that body for the religious observances of the Christian 
Church, took place at the rf^staurant of Citizen Clouzot, ]36Bleeck- 
er gtreet. The hour appointed for the beginning of the feast vias 
7.30, and at that time about a dczen French Communists were 
gathered in the front room, drinking vermouth, absinthe and other 
liqueurs, smoking cigareites and discussing the aflfairs of the day. 
Prominent among tbem were E Imond Megy, one of the Commu- 
nists who, in 1871. assisted at the assassina^ ion of Archbishop Dar- 
boy and the hostages at Paris ; Olivier, one of the chit- f writers of 
La Cen ralisaiion, the Communist organ of this city; Leblanc,. a 
well-known Communist ; Corny, a Haytian negro Communist ; 
Mathelot, a veteran French agitaiionist, and Brossard, the Secre- 
tary of the Communist Society. As the writer entered the room 
Megy glared at him recognizing him as the wiiter of a recent arti- 
cle in the World on the Frenca Communists in New York, and 
immediately pointed him out in a very marked manner to his 
comrades. The writer i.ffected not to notice the attention he had 
attracted and conversed with a companion ; but Megy came up to 
him and in a threatening manner said: '-You fixed me nicely ia 
your article, did you not?" 

'And how?" 

"Oh, you know," was the reply ; "you were insolent and made 
fun of me." 

"Indeed," 

••Yes, sir, indfed.** exclaimed Megy, angrily; "and If I meet 
you on the street I'll 1 ly you out, and I have a mind to do it now.* 

"Well, let us talk about tLat." 

"No, I wont talk about it," was the angry rejoinder, as Megy 
walked away, his eyes flashing with anger and his friends watch- 
ing every movement. 

A few minutes later word was given to go into dinner, and all 
"pivsent entered the salle a rmnger. The banquet hall was decora- 
ted with hangings of very red banners and ihe flitfS of the Com- 
mune. One bore the insciiption, "Vive la Coramuut ;" another 

* Ic Was lor writing this aiiU oiher arac.es aD^ut the Freuch < oinmuQ. 
ists in ^ew York that Megy threatened the author's life, lor which otTence he 
•was arrested and bound over by Judge F. Sherman Smith to keep the peace^ 
(April 1878). 



36 A COMMUNISTIC DINNEB. 

"bore the inscription, "Pas de devoirs, pas de droits," "Pas de 

droits, pas de devoirs," and "Socicte desRefugies de la Commune." 

The table was spreaa with red napkins; most of the guests wore 

red in some form or the other, and the Chairman, Citizen Mathe- 

lot, wore a red shirt. All the guests were in their working-day 

clothes. Sixteen in all sat down to table, and for nearly two hours 

were engaged in eating and drinking. The menu was about as 

follows: 

Radles. 

Potage a la Commune, 

Sauci&sun de Lyon. 

Bass a la Blauqui. 

Filet de Boeuf anx jeuis pels. 

Boguous sauies au sauced' 1861. 

Pate de Vtau a la Rocliefori. 

Caie Noir. 

Each guest ate heartily and drank as much vin ordinaire and 
cognac as he could hold. The effect of tbis was noticed as soonaa 
the cloth was removed, when Citizen Mathelot rose and delivered 
the opening address of the eveniDg. He wag greeted with loud 
applause, and, pulling up the collar of his red shirt and taking 
from his mouth the clay pipe which he held there, he said: *'I do 
not rise in tlie character of president for we have no president, 
and need none. We are all equal. I rise to tell you why we are 
here ; we are here to attest our hatred of the prejudices which 
make of this a fast day for the poor, while the priests and the rich 
feast and grow fat. What are these priests ? They are the assas- 
sins of the people; tbe enemies of humanity; rascals who always 
side with the oppressors against the oppressed, with the prosecutor 
against his victims. (Applause. ) The priest has ever been the 
enemy of liberty— not only the Catholic priest, but the Jewish and 
Protestant priests as well. In 1851, when the coup d'etat came in. 
France, the Archbishop Guibert offered the revolutionists the use 
of the Church of Notre Dame as a place of refuge from the troops, 
but, as soon as the coup d'etat had succeeded, he opened its doors 
to sing a Te Deum to Napoleon, and thus allowed his victims to 
fall into the hands of the assassins. Ah, these priests ! I remem- 
ber when I had a daughter; instead of having her baptized by a 
priest, I gave her a name and baptized her with wine. A priest 
afterwards came to me and said he would come and baptize her. 
I said : Tf you come as a man I will welcome you, but if you 
come as a priest I will throw you out of the window.* (Loud 
applause.) Citizens, we do not want these priests. If we get 
married let us be married by the Mayor. If we must baptize our 
children let us do it outselves and in wine, and not let a priest 
throw his dirty water over its head. (Loud applause. ) Those 
'Who do not feel and act this way are overinfluenced bv their wivaa 



A COMMUNISTIC DINNER. 37 

or their mothers-in-law. Let them, then free themselves from 
this influence. Let us feast when these priests fast, fast when they 
feast— for the Church and its priests are always on the side of 
property; but sometimes they suffer too, as in the case of M. Dar- 
boy." (Loud applause, during which Megy picked his teeth with 
his fork and tmiled triumphantly.) 

The next speaker was Citizen Gokrd, an old man with liHle 
hair and much cravat. He said " Citizens, we are here, as Citi- 
zen Mathelot has said to express our contempt for the priests. 
This is right. Take the case of the Archbishop who recently for- 
bade the members of the workingmen's party to enter the church 
in San Francisco. Ah, if I could have that Bishop by the hair. 
(Loud applause and wild yells). It is time that we the advance- 
guard of the people, should come out boldly and express our 
feelings towards these priests, these assassins of our rights, these 
robbers of our means. A priests be he Catholic, Protestant or Jew 
is an enemy and the bishops are the leaders of the people's enemies. 
(Loud applause). 

After this address Citizen Megy was called upon for a toast 
and said: " Citizens, I propose to you, * The annihila'ion of the 
priests and all other rascals, and the destruction of the Church. 
Drink ! " This was drunk with due honors amid great enthusiasm, 
all the guests gazing at Megy with great admiration. 

The colored Communist, Citizen Corny, next sang a song, 
■which was loudly applauded, and the Citizen Leblun sang an ode 
to spring of a lively character, prefacing the third verse with an 
apology for its religious ciiaracter, as it contained the line: 
J'aime ma mere et mon Dieu 

"Oh, we are indulgent," exclaimed Megy; "go on." 

"Yes," exclaimed Citizen Mathelot, "go on; we are not 80 
serious as we look.'' 

Citizen Mathelot then sang a revolutionary ditty, of which the 
refrain was; 

Pon, Pen, Pon, 
Couraee ! trarcons. 
P n, Pon, Pon, 
Demolissous demoiissons. 

This exicited a degree of enthusiasm, equalled only by tbafe 
created by a song sung by Megy and entitled " Aux Barricade^!,* 
of which the refrain was; 

Car, il laut-qu'a tout prix nous en soyons valnqueura. 

Citizen Caniare followed with a song of equivocal character whieh 

was received with great favor. By this time the claretand cognft(\ 

the red flag and the speeches had done their work, and a citizen, 

whose name was withheld, sang a ditty of such a character that 



38 SATURDAY NIGHT ON THE BOWEEY. 

Mme. Cloazot, who was waitiug at the table, left the room in a 
hurry and the audience saluted its vulgar words and more vulgar 
refrain with yells of drunken laughter. At its close the writer 
left and Citizen Mathelot, leaving his seat at the head of the table, 
followed him into the hall and asked him to be just in his report. 
Said the citizen in a tone of maudlin dignity; "Do not repor- 
wbat we are, but the principles that we represent;" and as he 
left the scene, roars of laughter were making the rafters ring at the 
joke of one of the company, which was much too blasphemous to 
be printed here. 



SATXTRBAY maUT ON TEE BOWERY, 

ALL the business in New York is not done in stores and offices 
by any means. A very large and a very importiant traffic is 
carried on out-doors, at the impromptu markets started in all 
parts of the city to meet the requirements of a class of people 
whose limited means do not permit them to patronize the regular 
stores and markets, and who seek the necessities ot life in those 
places where they can buy them most cheaply— to a great extent 
regardless of their quality. The locale of the most extensive of 
these popular open-air marts is on the Bowery, from its beginning 
to near Gr.ind or Hester Street, and on Vesey Street near Broad- 
way, and the principal hours of business are from sunset till near 
midnight on Saturday and holiday nights. At that time the pave- 
ment on both sides is skirted with barrows and barrels and various 
undescribed and indescribable stands of temporary and very un- 
certain kinds, on which are displayed goods of all descriptions at 
prices which would make the average householder op^n his eyea 
and wonder. The articles found in the greatest abundance are 
fruit, vegetables, fish, poultry and miscellaneous household uten- 
sils. Chickens tottering on the verge of another world, vegetables 
which might ha\'e been obtained from the Street-Cleaning Depart- 
ment, flsh of week before last, fruit which might have illuminated 
Sir Isaac Newton about gravitation, all are spread out in threat- 
ening array under blaring gas or oil lights on ricketty stands the 
length of the Bowery within the limits mentioned. The vendors 
of these commodities are of the roughest and most uncleanly ap- 
pearance, and their success seems to depend largely upon the 
strength of their lungs and the amount of their breath. From sun- 
down, when they appear, till midnight, when they fold up theif 



SATUBDAY NiOiJT ON TdLE BOWERY. 39 

shops and qnietly wheel away, they keep np a continual halloo. 
Their patrons, belouging largely to their own ranks, are of ill-clad 
womeD, unhnppy-looking vagabond childrtn of both sexes, aged 
respectable and impoverished people who do not get enough to 
eat, these m ke up the motley crowd that patronize the out-door 
market on the Bowery. Their appearance is in strong contrast to 
the bright exterior of thebrillianll3--Iighted shops on the street in 
which the better-to-do people make their purchases, and in which 
all buy those few articles which the barrow meichanls do not 
keep. 

The rivalry between the various stands is hot and close, and 
the more experienced venders usually do the best business • 
"Competition, no monopoly," seems to be the favorite sentiment 
and it is certainly acted up to. Passing quietly along, unheeding 
and apparently — but only apparently- unheeded, your ears are 
saluted on one side with a stentorian shout of ••New Arabian sugar 
dates only 5 cents nyarr," and on the other by a whispered and 
snivelling petition to invest in "Fine fresh lorbsters, all alive 
nyee." Then a little further on you are free to choose which of a 
dozen peddlers you will patronize for suspenders, socks, picture 
frames and a hundred thing;s else, and while jou survey the scene 
and reflect you are jealously watched — watched by a Bowery statue 
who, with check pantaloons, tight at the knee and wide at the 
ankle, shoes with three or four steps leading up to the toes, h-ands 
in pockets of a short pea-jacket and hat cocked on one side, awaits 
his opportunity to *'go through" you and see "whatcher got aboai 
yer." 

The occasional bullying of some poor creature who attempts 
to cheapen the articles which, cheap as they are already, she can- 
not afford to buy, the squalling of seme j uvenile thief who has had 
his head slapped for stealing a handful of nuts, the coarse and 
ribald talk of the rival venders, are the sounds which, with the 
jingling of the horse car bells and tramping of the horses' feet, 
accompany these scenes. Of course they differ widely, according 
to time and season. This barrow trade fluctuates much more than 
the regular indoor trafiic. It is dependent to a great extent upon 
the state of the weather, and in times of rain or snow it is consid- 
erably reduced. The cosmopolitan features of the traffic, are filled 
in by three or four Chinamen, who sell what they are pleased to 
call cigars; a Long Islander with a Turkish cap, which he seemt 
to consider an indispensable adjunct to the horehound candy trade, 
etc., and, further down towards Chatham btreet, by the gentlemen 
who deal in second-hand clothes, and who, as the night wears on, 
often get desperate at the lack of custom, lay violent hands upca 



to THE CHINESE IN NEW YORK. 

some passer-by who looks as though he wanted some new clothes, 
and get their noses, their prominent feature, punched for their 
trouble. 

On Vesey Street substantially the same traffic is carried on 
and pretty much the same scenes are enacte^l, only that here, aa 
the street is very narrow, there sometimes occur slight differences 
between the store-keepers and the barrow merchants in regard to 
which shall occupy most of the sidewalk, to the great persona 
discomfort of the passer-by, who does not want the cheese of the 
storekeeper nor the picture-frames of the peddler. Then a police- 
man interferes, and after considering which of the two contestants 
looks moat solvent and liberal, decides— impartially. Tea and 
cheese are the chief articles for sale in the stores on Vesey Street, 
and crockery and half drunken woman are the principal articles 
on the sidewalk. 

Branches of the barrow trade are established at various points 
on Eighth Avenue, but they are carried on on a more respectable 
scale than those on the east side. There the landladies of cheap 
Doarding-houses glide stealthily along, closely veiled, basket in 
hand, and search for the commodities of boarding-house life at 
lower prices than they can fiud in the stores or markets, though 
they can hardly be compensated by the gain of a few nickels for 
the constant shocks to their nerves occasioned by the chance ap- 
parition of a boarder or of the servant of a rival establishment. 



TEE CHINESE IN NEW YORK 



There are between 1000 and 2000 Chinese living in New York 
city. They inhabit chiefly the dilapidated tenement houses in 
the lowest part of Baxter and Mott Streets. There they have estab- 
lished a sort of Chinese colony, and although in a centre of a dense 
and mixed papulation, they manage to live very much by them- 
selves. They have their hotels, their joss-houses or temples, their 
opium den^, their gambling-houses, and all that goes to make up 
the pleasures in the life of the average Celestial. The principal 
opium den is situated in a tenement house at the Back of Baxter 
Street; to reach it one has to cross a dirty and narrow alley known 
as Donovan's Lane, the scene of several infamous crimes and 
notably of the manslaughter for which Quembo Ap-po the Chinese 
desperado, is now serving a term of imprisonment at Sing Sing. 
On reaching the end of the lane, provided one goes in the evenin^^ 



THE CHINESE IN NEW YOBK il 

tbeonly time to visit China-town, the nostrils are assailed by ft 
strong, sickening odor, which announces that the pipes are bubb- 
ling. The scene inside is by no means attractive. In a room 
measuring about 8x10, opening into another about 5x8, are placed 
several boards or tables spread with common mattirgs. and on 
these lie, all huddled together, Chinamen of all ages and sizes in 
various stages of dishabille, enjoying the fumes of the drug. 

On the occasion of my visit the proprietor of the place, a sickly 
feeble little man, welcomed me in very good English and bade me sit 
down. He then threw himself on the table beside the others who 
were already smoking, and began fixing his pipe. This pipe, made 
of bamboo, had a stem about two feet long and one inch in diam- 
eter. Near the middle of the stem is the bowl, about the size of an 
egg-cup, in the centre of which is a small hole. The smoker takea 
a long needle, with which he picus up a little piece of opium out 
of a thimble or pot, and boldat in the flame of an oil lamp. Wnen 
it has burned to its proper consistency he smears it over the hole 
in the pipe, punches a hole through it with his needle and puflfs 
away, sending the smoke first through his lips, then through his 
nostrils, while all the pipes keep up a bubbling chorus. 

The odor of the burning opium is sickening, and this together 
•with the hot air in the close room made me quite faint. But I saw 
nothing particularly disgusting in the place, nor did I see what so 
many writers have claimed to describe, "the expression of supremo 
bliss depicted on the countenances of the smokers." On the con- 
trary, I watched in vain for an expression of any kind on the face 
of any one of the company. They fixed their pipes and smoked 
and fell back and fixed their pipes again, with no more expression 
of " supreme bliss" than a waid politician exhibits when tossing 
off his whisky. Though I have been several times in the cpium 
dens of the city, I have never seen an opium smoker in a state 
of insensibility. And I must add, that far from finding the Chi- 
nese as dirty as they have been described by the writers on the 
California press, I have been surprised by their uncommon clean- 
liness and neatness. Their linen is snowy white, their clothing 
generally n^at, and their apartments, small as they are, always 
clean and tidy. 

But to return to opium-smoking. The pipes used are all 
imported from China, as well as the ilttle thimbles in which the 
drug is served out to customers. Opium is worth generally eight 
dollars a pound, and as the keepers of the smoking-rooms charge 
20 and 25 cents a thimbleful, they no doubt make a handsome pro It. 
The opium-smokers who frequent the Baxter Street houses smoke 
from ^ an ounce to 1 i ounces a day, for which they pay from 20 to 



43 THE CHINESE IN NEW YORK. 

75 cents. These places are well patronized and are crowded night- 
ly, a room of about, 8x10 frequently accommodating ten or fifteen 
people at one time. 

From the opium-den I went to the j oss-honse at 34 Mott Street. 
It is situated in a small, low, but clean room on the third floor. 
The walls are hung with framed calendars in Chinese characters, 
and around the room are set three plain wooden benches. At the 
east end of the apartment is the altar, hung with red satin curtains; 
attached to this Is a large silk banner, on which aie embroidered 
the figures of the three principal Chinese gods, the gods of Fire 
Air and Water. Besides these there are scattered around the room, 
and for use only on special occasions, other gods, and notably 
Tsoi-Pak-Shing-Kwan, the god of wealth. A temple regulates the 
number of its gods according to its means, as they are very expen- 
sive to get up. On the table are several cedar sticks, which are 
burned during the ceremonies in honor of the idols, and in front 
of the altar hangs a perpetual light. All round the room are 
Chinese lanterns, which are used on festival days only. Careful 
inquiry revealed the fact that, there being no regular priest in New 
York, the head man of the gambling-house on Mott Street does 
duty in that capac.ty. 

At 34 Mott street is the Chinese gambling house, kept in the 
basement by the man who keeps the hotel upstairs and runs the 
Joss-house over the road. Fung- Wa is the name of this versatile 
character. The gamblmg-house is divided into two rooms, in one 
of vfhich, at the time of my visit, a wonderful game of dominoes 
was in progress',, while in the other a regular round game was go- 
ing on. The game of dominees was peculiar. Each man seemed 
to have about fifty dominoes, and the chief aim of the players 
seemed to be to make as much noise as possible by slamming them 
a\:out on the table without any particular object. In the back 
room about forty men were gathered around a table betting on a 
game of rather imposing appearance, but being in fact, notbing 
more nor less than the children'^ game of *'odd or even." The 
dealer takes a handiul of brass buttons and puts them under a sort 
of sauce-pan-cover, The players make their bets with the banker 
and among themselves. The dealer lifts the saucepan-cover and 
picks out the buttons with a long whale-bone, four at a time. 
When he has picked out the last, the players settle up amid yells 
and shouting, and the game begins again. On the occasion of my 
visit the players were betting high and several $50 bills changed 
hands. 

Upstairs is the hotel and restaurant, where Chinese delicacies 
axe dispensed to all comers. The Chinese are great gourmands, 



STEEET THICKS, ^ 

notwithstanding their half-starved appearance, and know how to 
live as well aa their neiohbors. Among the delicacies of the 
Chinese cuisine, obtainable here, are cam-chin-gye, or broiled 
chicken's heart, cum-wah-ham-chi-ho, or oysters fried in batter 
with onions, cho-koo-bak-kop-meo-goo, or pigeon stewed with 
bamboo-sprouts, ki-ton-yu-shee, or sharks fins stewed with ham 
and eggs, and ha-yuk-kow-chee, or fancy rice cakes made in imita 
tion of birds and flowers. 

The Chinese in New York devote themselves chiefly to tbe 
noble professions of cigar-making and clothes-washing, in both of 
which they are experts. They earn as much money as their neigh- 
bors and live on less. They are frugal and industrious, save money 
smoke opium, gamble, but never get drunk, rarely fight, and take 
no interest in politics. The police give them a good reputation for 
peaceableness and good conduct. There is only one Chinese 
woman in New York, the wife of a cigar-maker; she has several 
children, all of whom are beginning to speak English. Many China- 
men have found white vives and live happily with them. I had 
some conversation with a bright, intelligent Irish girl, the wife ot a 
young Chinaman, and she tcld me that she was well satisfied with 
her lot. She had been married before to an Iiishman, who was kill- 
ed in afigbt, but she preferred her present husbond.she said, because 
he was sober, kind, had plenty of money and did not run aftsr 
other women; "What more can any dacent woman desire?" 



STREET TRICKS, 



EVERY large city has its peculiar street scenes and charactera. 
Those of New York are both numerous and interesting. Per- 
haps no city in the world has more corner fruit and candy stands, 
peddlers' barrows, organ-grinder?, picturesque beggars and pro- 
fessional impostors. There were in 1873 no less than 400 licensed 
street stands, and as many more not licenced, devoted to the sale 
of difierent articles, within the city limits. Since then the number 
of both classes of stands has more than doubled. This estimate 
takes no account of the displays made by the keepers of small 
stores on the Bowery and Third Avenue, who use the sidewalk, 
rent free, with a charming disregard alike of the rights of citizens 
and of the corporation ordinances. The owners of street stands are 
all required to take out a license at the cost of $1, otherwipe they 
are liable to the penalties of the law. Even when they have tai- 



U STREET TRICKS. 

filled this requirement they are subject to the whims of the police- 
men in their neighborhood, by whom they may at any moment, be 
*'moved on," and thus nave their business broken up. The 
licenses are obtainable only by persons whose applications are en- 
dorsed by an Aldermm-at-large, or by an Alderman of the district 
in which the stands are located. They are renewable on the 1st of 
May of every year, and are granted only with the written consent 
of the^owners of the premises in front of which the stand is erected 
and with the understanding that they shall not project beyond the 
stoop line, say four or five feet from the house. Besides having to 
pay for permits, the owners of stands frequently pay the store- 
keepers for the privilege of standing in front of their stores. One 
store-keeper on the Bowery has an income of $3,000 ($1,000 more 
than his rent) from this source- A man who sells fruit under the 
Astor House pays $25 a month for the privilege. The store-keepers 
on Vesey Street also derive large profits from the rental of the side, 
walks in front of their stores. There are nineteen licensed stands 
in two blocks on Vesey Street. It is the duty of the police to arrest 
all unlicensed keepers of stands and all licensed keepers whose 
stands project beyond the stoop lines, but they do not do it. Flower- 
girls are subject to the same regulations as other street merchants 
and pay $1, a year for permits, or they are supposed to do so. 

The only public venders who do not have to pay licenses are 
the newsboys. The bootblacks are exempt from taxation, and their 
polishing profession is open to all comers who have the capital 
requisite for the purchase of blacking and brushes, and the physical 
Btreiigth necessary to keep them from the hands of their I^hmaelit- 
ish brethren. 

The amount of capital invested in the street candy business 
must be very large. There is hardly a street corner in New York 
where chocolate creams and other confectionery are not sold. In 
many respects this line of trade is peculiar to this city. It cer- 
tainly is so in regard to the material sold. In other cities the street- 
sold candies are of a much less pretentious order; in other and less 
favored places crystallized fruits, preserves and one ounce chocolate 
drops cannot be bought at one cent a piece. There's where we 
have the advantage of our neighbors. In other cities, however, this 
line of goods, being sold within doors, lacks the rich incrustation 
of dust with which it is usually covered here. There's where our 
neighbors have the advantage of us. The pea-nut and fruit busi- 
ness generally is very extensiye. It is much pleasanter for the 
vp.nder here than it would be elsewhere, in Loadon for example 
In that metropolis of an effete monarchy the satraps of the gov- 
ernment tyrannically prevent the sale of rotten or unripe fruit. 



STREET TRICKS. , 46 

Here, in this free country, however, we are all at liberty to sell 
or eat unwholesome fruit to our hearts' content and our stomachs* 
serious discomfort. It may be in place here to say tjaat it is the 
opinion of many eminent physicians that a large percentage of our 
annual summer diseases are the direct results of the consumption 
of rotten and unripe fruit and vegetables, and of the bestowal of 
the refuse thereof in the streets and gutters in the poorer quarters 
of the city, where the lumble of the Street Cleaning Department's 
cart IS seldom or never heard. 

Among strange street characters of New York, almost every 
one must have noticed the large, fat, red-nosed man who sits all 
the year round on a door-step m Union Square, apparently playing 
with painted monkies on sticks and babies' rattles, but in reality 
offering those articles for sale. The earnest look on the bloated 
face of this great fellow as he sits all day long with his toy in hia 
handsmakeshimavery picture of idiocy. The writer has stood look- 
ing at that man miny times, uniil he has burst into an uncontrolla- 
ble fit of laughter. Right by this character, almost any tine after- 
noon, there may be seen, sitting on the steps of the Wheeler & 
Wilson sewing machine building, a tolerably good-looking young 
mulatto woman, dressed in black, and holding in each arm a negro 
baby in long clothes. What she is there for no one seems to know. 
No one ever saw her beg or try to sell the babies. Perhaps she 
Is camping out. The organ-grinders of various classes are famil- 
iar to New Yorkers. The tail, swarthy Italian, all alone with his 
instrument of torture, his compatriot witn a monkey of doubtful 
breeding, the married or ostensibly married grinder, who playa 
upon his orgin while his wife pi ys upon the feelings of passers- 
by, are all well know to us. Then there are the men and the women 
who rely chiefly on the meretricious aids to tLie:r profession, and 
carry a small organ and a large family of children of tender years, 
assorted sizes, on a huge wheelbarrow which carries all their worldly 
possessions. The ex-military organ-arinder, who hangs his certifi- 
cate of discharge from the army in front of Lis organ, used to be a 
great success, but is now dying out. The old woman with a little 
one-cent organ, who sits near tbe theatres at night, is a compar- 
atively newcomer and will not die out at all. 

The Bowery and Broadway *'statues," with pants tight at 
Icnee and wide at ankle, three story boo:s, hats at one side and 
arms akimbo, are safest at the greatest distance. We all know 
them ; it is not wise to tackle them with flesh and bone. An equally 
dangerous character is the tearful and modest young woman whom 
you find, Niobe-like, dissolved in tears, and who tells you that she 
is about to be turned out of her room because she cannot pay her 



id WOMEN WHO WORK. 

rbnt nnd invites you to go with her and judge of the truth of ber 
Btory. She belongs to the same class as the young woman who 
**Just arrived from Dutchess County," accosts you in a street car, 
luquirefi the way to her "aunt's" and meanwhile finds her way to 
jour pockets and leaves you a wiser and a poorer man. 



WOMEN WHO WORK, 



rhas been well said ono half the world does not know how the 
other half lives. Some cynic has added that it does not care 
either: but this is not always true— never true when there are new 
phases of toil and suffering to be learned, In the city of New York 
alone there are probably a hundred thousand females, ranging in 
years from childhood to old age, who depend for their bread upon 
the labor of their hands, who, in season and out of season, trudge 
4o the scene of their work through the snow and slush of winter* 
through the heat and dust of summer, in good health, and often in 
eickness ! The branches of industry in which they are engaged are 
manifold. They are employed m textile manaficturesaad in the 
working of metal ;in the preparation of glass, china, ivory, pearl» 
tortoise-shell, guttapercha and hair. They assist in ihe manufac- 
ture of willow-ware and carved furniture and upholstery of all 
kinds ; they make paper and card-board boxes and bags, and are 
very usetul in toy factories. They work in printing offices aa 
press feeders and type-setters. Their chief employment, though, 
is the making of men's and women's wearing apparel, the manufac- 
ture of cigars and cig irettc'^, and the handling of tobacco generally. 

In one bianch of the manafacture of wearing apparel, the 
making of artificial flowers and curling and dressing ornamental 
feathers, between 10.000 and 12,0J0giils find constant employment. 

They are, for the most part, mere children, ranging in ages 
from 8 to 14, and their average earning are from $3 to $5 a week. 

There are between 1,8.0 and 2,000 womf^n employed in the 
large millinery establisbments cf the cit}, and as manvmore in the 
umbrella and hoop-skirt factories. The average weekly earnings 
of this class of workers is about $6, and they rarely make more 
than $12. 

The manuf ictnre of hats- a very important industry, employs 
about 20,000 females, and is reasonably remunerative. Hands em- 
ployed on fur and cloth hats and caps make from tS to $5 a week 
And these working on women's trimmed hats average from $5 to 



WOMEN WHO WOEK. 47 

$16. Some branches of the business are very unhealthy, and the 
operatives soflFer from the inhalation of the dust and coloring 
matter tuat is rubbed from the felt. 

Nearly 10,000 tailoresses are employed in making ••custom 
work." They are engaged chiefly by the "ready-made clothing' 
merchants and by the cheap tailors on the Bowery. They are paid 
from 25 to 75 cents for vests, from 43 cents to $3 for coats, from, 
15 cents to $1 25 lor trousers, and from $1 to $5 60 for overcoats, 
and can aveiage from $5 to $11 a week. Much of this kind of work 
is done at the houses of the workers, and by farmers' wives and 
daughters, to whom it is peddled out by con'ractors, and, poorly 
paid fxir as it is, it is eagerly sought. A tailor doing a large busi- 
ness on the east side of tne city, told the writer, a few days ago, 
that if he had ten times the work to give out that he has, he could 
find hands ready and willing to do it all for almost any price. 
It must be borne in mind that the tailoresses and seamstresses 
have no Trades' Unions, like the workers of the other and stronger 
Sex, and they have to work for what th* y can get— or starve. The 
principal tailoring done by women is on pantaloons, vests, alpaca 
coats, and linen goods. 

Femile labor is much used in the cloth factories. One house 
alone employs 110 girls in this branch of industry. An average 
cf 30 girls are engaged in one room in the weaving ct hair-cloth. 
The labor is haid and unpleasant, and the hair and dust and the 
odor of stale oil from the machinery make the atmosphere very un- 
healthy, and tell woefully upon ihe physical welfare of the hands. 
The accomodations in these shops are greatly iaferior to those in 
any well-regulated prison work-room. The meu and women work 
together, dress and undress together, and are obliged to eat their 
miserable midday meals in the foul atmosphere of the shop. For 
this labor they receive from about $5 to $8 a week, excepting, of 
course, the old and experienced and rapid workers who make more. 

One of the pleasantest occupatirns lor women is that of book- 
binding. Several thousand women and girls are engaged in it, the 
majoriiy of the workers being children of betweea 12aad 15. These 
are employed only in the lighter branches of the business, such as 
those of folding an J sewing the leaves, laying on the gold leaf etc. 
At this work they can make from $4 to $7 a week, only the most 
experienced and rapid hands making more. 

One of the mostdiaagreeabltif3c:}ale avocations is cigar-making 
and tobacco manufacturing in all its branches, and yet it employs 
thousands of respectable young women. They roll and fill cigars, 
color the bladders for holding snuff, fill, cap, wrap, label, and var- 
nish them. The majotiiy, however, are engaged in ** stripping '• 



48 POPULAR SONGS. 

the tobacco in its leaf form. Naturally the work is very nnbealtby, 
particularly to women of delicate health. Large quantities of the 
fine dust of the tobacco is inhaled, frequently causiDg lung dis- 
eases and the poisonous vapor exuded by the damp leaf renders 
the atmosphere of tbe \vorksbops perfecily stifling. The "strip- 
pers," as they are called, average not more than $5 a week, while 
the cigar-makers, meu and women, make frooa $7 bO to $13 each. 
Usnilly tbe cigars are made by a man and bis wife working to- 
getber, the former doing the rolling and finishing and the latter 
tbe strippiLg and filling. 

Tbousand-; of women are employed in tbe occupation of shirt- 
making, a very pleasant and f lirly proS^able work. These average 
from $6 to $12 a week all the year round. Workers on white 
shirts make about $8; others on woolen aud domestic goods about 
$6. On fine underwear and fine white shirts their earnings are 
from S8 to $10 a week, when they are not paid by the dozen. Their 
average hours of labor are from 7:30 a. m. to 6 p. m., and most of 
their work is done in the stores. One shirt-house on Leonard 
street, employs 3,500 hands to conduct its business, and of these 
at least one-half are women. Seamstresses who go out to work by 
the day earn from $1.50 to $2 per day and their meals. They are 
usually good milliners, and competent to do the more difl&cult 
Boits of needle-work. 

There are several hundred girls and women employed in the 
large candy factories of the city, where the work is very pleasant 
and very poorly paid for. The female hands areemnloyei chiefly 
in packing candies in boxe.s, wrapping aud labeling them, aud in 
putting up bon-bons and other confections. Their pay averages 
from $4 to $5 a week, the forewomen making as much as $7, and 
their work lasts twelve hours every clay. 



POFULAB SONGS. 



THE music-publishing business is one of the most interesting 
and least known of all the trades wbich find support in this 
country. It is and always has beeo in the bands of a very few men 
who have, inmost cases, protitod handsomely by the monopoly. 
I refer particularly to tbe song publishing branch of the trade, 
which is now almost entirely under the control of the Ditsons, W. 
A. Pond & Co., J. L Peters !^ Br iinard's Sons, Johii Church & Co., 
and G. D. Eussell & Co., and two or three others. The whole 



POPULAR SONGS. 49 

zmmber of pieces published in the United States, including botb 
vocal and instrumental compositions, is about eighty thousand. 
Of this very few, of course, ever attain any considerable sale, in- 
deed, only one song in a thousand ever reaches a sale of one thous- 
and copies, and a composer who averages live hundred copies for 
each of his songs is considered a success. The song writers of 
America are very few and they may be classed thu«^: Hays, of 
Louisville; Thomas, of New York; Dunks, of New York; Henry 
Tucker, otNew Yoik; VV. H. Brockway, Harrison Millard, of New 
Yorii; C. A. White and J. T. Ordway, of Boston, and Koot, of 
Chicago. Having mentioned these, the list is exhausted. Millard 
and Hays frequently write their own words, but the others usually 
buy theirs. 

It is a remarkable fact that, notwithstanding the large num- 
ber ot amateur poets with whom our land is afflicted, there is but 
one song-poet in the country worthy of the name. Mr. George 
Cooper is the man who writes more songs than all others put to- 
gether, and he needs to write a great many to make the business a 
paying one, for Lis remuneration is beggarly, being only from $5 
to $10 a piece. Tbis sum appears even more insignifi ant when 
compared with the handsome profits made by the music writers. 
There are, besides him, a number of amateur T-iong-writera whoare 
anxious to furnish words to be set to music, and ask only in re- 
turn that they may be credited with^the authorship, on the title 
page of the piece. But they find very little qpcupation, for song- 
wnting requires a peculiar talent, with which few people are gifte^ 
Mr. Cooper possesses this talent in a maiked degree, and has writ- 
ten many pieces which have real merit, such as "Dear Little Heart," 
"When the Tide Comes in." *'Learniiig to Walk," etc. 

Of the eighty thousand pieces on the catalogne of thfl Board 
of Trade, there are, at present, only abont twelve hundred good 
Belling songs and many of these Lave only just begun to attain 
popularity. Some of them were sold years ago by their aathors 
at nominal prices and have since become a fiUitful source of rev- 
enue to the publishers; others leaped into favor with the first edi- 
tion and have netted their authors handsome profits. Take, fpr 
example, Danks' "Silver Ttireads Among the Gold," which was 
originally sold for $40 and has since reached a sale of between 
300,000 and 4f 0,000 copies and is selling still. •♦Tramp, Tramp," 
on the other hand, became popular at once and sold rapidly for 
over a year, being heard on hand-organs and in brass bands on 
every street corner, but V has now gone out of fashion and doej 
not sell a dozen co:)ies io a year. 

Music-writers like H^ys, Danks & Millard, get from $50 to $100 



60 POPULAR SONGS. 

for a 8 ^ng, if sold outright or a commission of ten per cent, on tho 
total sales, Millard's "Viva V America" sold over SO.UOO copies and 
netted about $2,500; his "When the Tide Come m"used to bring 
him about $l,OGOayear; his "Waiting "averaged 6,000 copies a 
year, and his " Under the Daisies '» 7,000 copies a year. 

Hays' "Mollie Darling " and Hoflfmin's "Mocking Bird ' havo 
both had large sales, the first about 500,000 and the second not 
quite half as many. The following particulars about the sales of 
other popular songs, now made public for the first time, will doubt- 
less prove interesting. J. A. Barry's Little Footsteps, "originally 
Bold for $5, had a sale of 75,000 copies; "Belle Mahone," 100,000; 
J. P. Ord way's "Dreaming of Home, Mother," 50,000; Eastburn's 
••HowtheGatesCame Ajar," 100,000; Hays' "We Parted by the 
Eiver side," 100,000; White's "Come, Birdie, Come," 100,000; 
Brockway's ••Little Sweetheart, Ccme and Kiss Me," originally 
sold for $25 had a sale ol 25,000 copies; Warren's "Rock of Ages,'* 
150. 00 J; Thome's "Tis But a Little Faded Flower," 75,000; and S, 
G. Foster's '•Old Folks at Home," 400,000. 

Of Covert's famous song, "The Sword of Bunker Hill," 100.- 
000 copies have been sold; of Wallace's "Sweet Spirit Hear My 
Prayer," nearly 500,000 copies, and of Work's famous temperance 
song "Father, Come Home," 250,000 , 

Of the popular American comic songs, Howard's "Shoo Fly* 
Eold 200,000 copies;. C. A. White's "Put Me in My Little Bed,'* 
which I do not hesitate toclasaas comic, 100,000; Harrigan & Hart's 
Mulligan Guards," originally sold by the authors for $50, 100,000; 
Harrigan & Hart's idiotic "Hildebrandt Montrose," originally sod 
for $25, 200,000 copies. The popular Englisn comic song, "Pall 
Down The Blinds," sold 50,000 copies in this country within a few 
months. 

England, which is par exceUence the home of comic music 
has sent us manj popular songs, or rather we have taken them. 
As there is no international copyright law, the music publishers 
are at liberty to sell them without giving the authors or the orig^i- 
nal publishers any compensation. Among the English songs thus 
naturalized are: Sullivan's "Let Me Dream Aaain," which sold 
lOO.tOO copies; "Champagne Charlie,'' 75,000; "Good-bye Charlie/* 
60,000; "What are The Wild Waves Saying?" "Won't You Tell Me 
Why, Robin ?" 100,000; and "Five O'Clock in the Morning,'* 
250,000. 



POLICE DETECTIVES. 51 



POLICE DETECTIVES. 



fTlHE stranger in New York little tbinks, as he enters his hote] 
J- or saunters into a theatre, that his every movement is 
noted by a lynx-eyed detective, who, dressed m ordinary clotbe», 
and these usually of the best kind, lounges at the entrance. He 
little imagines tbat the benevolent-lookiLg old man, who leans on 
the hotel counter talking to the clerk, is one of the most trusted 
officers of the secret force, and is perhaps wondering to himself if 
he h:s ever seen the stranger's lace before, and, if so, where? Stil* 
less does he suppose that the handsomely- dressed young man, 
standing chatting with the manager at the theatre door, is detailed 
there by the police to watch for pickpockets and the like. Yet 
sucb is the fact. The detectives are everywhere and no one seems 
to know them, except the thieves, the officers viho have dealings 
with them, and the newspaper men, who know everybody. Stand 
with me some evening at the entrance to Booth's Theatre, as the 
people are go^ng in, and keep your eyes and ears open. A re- 
spectable-looking old gentleman, quietly dressed, and with a. 
ticket for a reserved seat in bis hand, walks along, and, as he 
reacbes the gate, a handsome young man at my side taps bim oik 
the back and says familiarly, " Ah Jim, where are you going? " 

Jim starts, as well he may; for he is one of the most notorious 
pickpockets in the country, and replies uneasily: ••Oh, I am jusl 
going to see the play; all right I puppose." 

••Oh, I guess you don't wunt to go to-night," suggests the 
young man, and the respectable- looking old gentleman turns sadly 
away. 

A minute later, the attention of the young man at my side wbo^ 
it is needless to say, is a detective, is attracted to a studious look- 
ing youth wih spectacles, whom he salutes with "Hollo, Tom, 
where have you been ? " 

Tom turns and stares, looks surprised, as indeed he is; for be 
has been absent from New York for live years, and did not expecl 
to be recognized. " Hush," he say; •' Yes 'its me. What's up?" 
"Wbeie are you going?" asks ihe detective. 
•' Want to see the show, that's all,*' is the reply; •• no business, 
yon can let me in." 

••Honest injum ?*'a8ks the detective; '•Yes, honest injimi,*' 
is the answer. 

••"Well, go ahead," says the officer; "bat mind, I will hold you 
responsible lor any thing that is done in your hne." 



62 POLICE DETECTIVES. 

**0. K.." says the studious youth and passes on with light 
and careless step. 

The Police Detective force of New York is a comparatively 
new institutioD. Up till as late as 1844 the only police in the city 
were the night watchmen, who were known as '•Old Leather- 
heads," because they wore large leather hats like those of the flre- 
men. In those times what detective service there was to be done 
was intrusted to the city marsuals or shenflfi appointed by the 
mayor, of wbom the most famous were Jacob Hayes, A. M. Smith, 
and John Burleigh. Hayes has alw*iys been regarded as the 
Oiiginal New York detective. 

In 1844, under the administration of Mayor Harper, the 
Municipal Police, or as they were commonly called the M. P's 
were organized. Mr. Matsell became their chief, and in 1845 he 
detailed three of them to " special duty " at head-quarters. Other 
assistants he had who were called "aids to the chief," but thesa 
three Mr. Matsell dubbed "shadows." They were in fact detec- 
tives, and were principally engaged in bunting up bank-thievee, 
who then formed a very -large part of our criminal classes. In 
1846-7 the "shadows" vr ere reinforced by the addition of three 
more, one of whom was Walling, the present superintendent. 

But it was not until 1857, when the Metropolitan Police were 
established, that New York had a regular detective force. A de- 
tective bureau was then founded as a part of tho new institution, 
having an office at Police Kead-quarters. In 1858, Mr. Walling 
was made chief of detectives, and the bureau was organized pretty 
much as it now is. The force now consists of eleven regularly de- 
tailed men, and about as many more on probation, that is to say, 
assigned temporarily, until they show what they are worth. The 
men are selected from the ranks of the police because of their 
special aptitude for detective work. Besides these, there are the 
** ward detectives " who do duty in their respective precincts and 
are appointed by the police board on the recommendation of the 
captains. 

The pay of detectives, which is the same as that of patrolmen, 
viz: $100 a month, seems inadequate to the work they are expected 
to perform, which is frequently ot a very delic.ite nature, requiiing 
much tact and intelligence, ar.d sometimes involving considerable 
expenditu»-e of morey. As the police board has no power to pay 
their expenses, they have to do so themselves, unless the parties 
interested in the case are willing to assume them. As a rule, 
people interested in the arrest of criminals defray the expenses of 
detectives who have te leave the city; otherwise very few criminals 
would ever be captured by New Y jrk officers outside of New York. 



POLICE DETECTIVES. 5S 

The police detectives undertake no basinessexcept of a crim- 
inal character and attend to no crimes except those committed in 
New York city. If they were to attend to all the complaints of 
jealous wives and husbands, to all the romances of ill-used children 
and unnatural parents, or if they were to respond to all the calls 
for their services outside of the city, they would have ten times 
more than they could do. But they leave all these matters to the 
private detective, who, as he undertakes no work without a liberal 
retainer in advance, can afford to give his time to matters of purely 
personal or foreign concern. Some of the cases which come into 
the hands of the regular New York detectives occupy years of labor 
to complete, some of them never are completed. The small force 
at present employed in the department is barely able to cope with 
nearly 20,0U0 professional criminals resident in this city. The de- 
tectives know many of them, but, unfortunately, they know the 
detectives too. The present management of the detective bureau, 
however, has considerably lightened the work of the officers and 
largely reduced the danger to be feared from the criminal classes. 

When a malefactor is arrested, he is first taken to police head- 
quarters and conducted to the detective room, where he is examin- 
ed for identification. He is weighed, examined and searched, and 
all possible inquiries are made in regard to his antecedents. The 
chief then notes down, in what he cdlshis "Pedigree Book," 
the name and aliases of the prisoner, his height, weight, color of 
hair, color of eyes, peculiarities of features, and any distinctive 
marks on his body. He adds all that is known of his habits, 
previous arrests, and other matters of interest, co that he is rapid- 
ly compiling a biographical and descriptive dictionary of all the 
thieves in the country. This done, the prisoner is sent to have 
his photograph taken. Often he objects to this operation, and, by 
closing his eyes, distorting his features and making himself as 
obstreperous as he can, seeks to prevent it. But the police are 
used to these tricks, and usually succeed in tiring their man ont^ 
and securing the picture at last. 

These useful works of art are then added to the rack consti- 
tuting the so-called Rogues Gallery, which is composed of 1,500 
photographs of criminals of various degrees of turpitude, placed 
in a rack in the detective bureau. They are all numbered to cor- 
respond with the number on the biography in the Pedigree Book. 
They are also kept in duplicate to be sent to detectives in other 
cities if the originals should chance to emigrate, and recently the 
office has adopted a plan of exchange, by means of which it sends 
copies of its pictures to detectives and chiefs of police all over the 
eoantry, and receives others from them in return. By this means, 



54 POLICE DEIECTIVES. 

If the plan is proporly carried oat, it will soon be difficult for a 
thief to go anywhere in our large cities without being recognized, 
and < 'spotted." 

Another precaution of the detective office is to make a thief, 
who practices in any special line, known to his particular victims. 
I was in the office a few days ago with the chief of the bureau, 
when Bill Connolly — a notorious hotel-thief, who had just been 
arrested at the Astor House in the very act of leaving the room 
which he had been robbing — was brought in and identified. Be- 
fore he was taken to court ta be committed, the sergeant s^nt for 
themost prominent hotel-keepers in town, aud showed his pris- 
oner, so that, in case they might ever encounter him, they would 
be on their guard. Hardly had Connolly been taken away, when 
two detectives arrived with another hotel-thief, who had just been 
arrested at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and sent up by the dis .rict at 
torney for investigation. He had never been caught here before, 
or at least DO one recognized him; but his countenance and de- 
meanor should have been enough to convict him. He struggled 
and fought to prevent himself from being measured and weighed, 
ard was finally handcuffed, and removed by force to the photo- 
graphic gallery. 

The hotel thief is one of the most dangerous of thieves. 
To the detectives he is known as a "hotel dancer," His mode of 
operation is very simple. He goes to a first-class hotel, takes a 
room and proceeds at once to study the habits of the guests, pay- 
ing particular attention to those who go to bed under the influence 
of liquor. These he marks for his own, and, with his feet encased 
in carpet or list slippers, he pays them nocturnal visits for pro- 
fessional purposes. Often he calls for a newspaper in the morn- 
ing, and, walking up and down the corridor, apparencly engrossed 
in the news of the day, watches his opportunity, and, when one of 
the guests leaves his room for an instant, darts in and captures his 
booty. Most of these light-flngered gentry are of respectable 
appearance, and it takes an experienced eye to detect their tricks. 

Some thieves have their own peculiar styles of work, which no 
one else can imitate. A few years ago, there was a female pick- 
pocket who used to "work " the Broadway line of cars. Her mode 
of operation was to sit down by some wealthy-looking old gentle- 
man, drop her handkerchief, allow him to pick it up, engage him 
in a quiet flirtation, and, while his attention was distracted pick 
his pocket. She was a beautiful woman, and for a long time she 
puzzled the detectiv^es, but at last she was caught and only escaped 
because the victim would net prosecute. After that, however, 
whenever a theft was committed on the cars in her peculiar way, 



POLICE DETECTIVES. 6S 

her movements were watched. It was thus that she finally obtain- 
ed her deserts, and she is now serving a term in tbe state's prison- 
In the case of burglaries, the detective's task is rendered com- 
paratively easy if he can only find the tools used in the j ob, because 
there are very few manufacturers of burglars' implements, and they 
are nearly all known to the police. Having ones learned the maker 
of the tools used, the detective goes to work to discover who has 
bought £,ucn or such an article, and, having ascertained this, ha 
knows just whom to look for. In this connection it may be said 
that burglars' tools are altogether peculiar and are made specially 
for purposes of crime, but, as i explained in a recent article on thig 
subject, it is difficult to punish the makers, owing to the precau- 
tions they use to conceal their employment. 

A large part of the detective's time is employed in hunting np 
and recovering stolen property, and this used to be a difficult and 
tiresome task. It has been much simplified, however, of late, by 
the adoption of what is known as the "Postal-Card System." As 
fioon as a robbery is reported at head. quarters, a description of the 
stolen goods is printed on postal-cards and sent round t j pawn- 
brokers and others. 

It is impossible to tell a thief by his or her appearance, and in 
this respect the detectives, knowing their game intimately, have an 
advantage over the public generally. One afternoon, last winter, 
a Fifth Avenue stage, scandingat t'ae Falcon Ferry, with tsn pass* 
engers inside, was just about to start, when Detective Dorsey, one 
of the brightest of officers, in citizen's clothes, poked his head in 
at the door and said: "Look out, ladies and gentlemen, there are 
two pickpockets inside ! " 

Naturally, tbe passengers looked very uneasy and fidgeted 
arcuud. After an awkward pause, an old gentleman, wearing the 
dress of a minister and carrying a book under his arm, got up, and 
saying, "Dear, dear, I don't want to ride with pickpockets," got 
out. He was followed by an old gray-haired lady, dressed in deep 
mourning, who, muttering, "Nor I, either," stepped down, toov 
As this respectable couple disappeared, the detective put his 
head in again, slammed the door, and shoated, "All right, thej 
faavd lefti," and the stage rumbled away. 



66 FANNY STACY'S MOTHER. 



FANNY STAGTS MOTHER. 



WHEN the steamship City of Chester arrived at this city from 
Liverpool a few diys ago, it had on board, among the cab- 
in passengers, a good-looking woman of about thirty-five or forty 
years, and an old lady who looked fully eighty, and who bore oa 
her face nndoabted signs of trouble or of dissipation most unusual 
in women of her apparent position in life. Attaching to these two 
women is a somewhat remarkable story. 

Many years ago there lived in a large town in Virginia a man 
of considerable means and of go 3d social and business repute — 
Stacy by name and an ironmaster by trade. He had married early 
in life a handsome girl of Irish descant, by whom he had four chil- 
dren. It was currently reported that the man did not live happily 
with his wife, and after the birth ot their fourth child Mr. Stacy, 
Unable longer to bear with the habituil and incorrigible intem- 
perance of his wife, instituted suit for divorce and, meanwhile, 
aepaiated from her, taking the children into his own care. Pend- 
ing the suit for divorce Mrs. Stacy went to Eagland to stay with 
relatives residing there, and shortly after, Mr, Stacy, reading in 
one of the English papers, of her death, stopped the proceedings 
for divorce, and, a few moathg after, married a young lady living 
ih Richmond. Mr. Stacy had three children by his second wife, 
with whom he led a happy and contented life, and he was much 
grieved when, after a lapse of ten years, she died in childbirth, 
leaving him for the second time a widower. This grief, however, 
was apparently not inconsolable, for after a short period of mourn- 
ing he moved to Nsw York and married a third time. By this last 
marriage he had four children, three boys and a girl. After a 
short residence here Mr. Stacy returned to Virginia. 

In 1873 Fanny Stacy, the eldest child by the first marriage, and 
by all reports a very estimable young person, went to England on 
a visit for the benefit of her health. While staying at Torquay 
she met an old lady who had known her father and mother in 
America in the early days of th?ir m irrini life, and from this per- 
son she learned, to her surprise and dismay, that her mother, Mrs. 
Stacy No. 1, was not dead, but was living in London in very poor 
circumstances, to which she had been reduced by her habit of ex- 
cessive drinking. Miss Stacy took no particular steps to verify this 
report, but on her return to America told her father what she had 
heard. The old gentlem m was incredulous and particularly angry 



FANNY STACY'S MOTHER. 67 

that any one should have dared to mention the name of his dis- 
graced wife to her daughter. He refused to take any measures to 
find out the truth, and from that time displayed great coldnesa 
towards Fanny, who, at this time, was the only surviving child of 
the first marriage. 

In the early part of 1875 Mr. Stacy, who had been in bad 
health a long time, died. When his will was opened it was dis- 
covered thit by a codicil, added the year before, he had revoked all 
bequests to Fanny Stacy, and lefc the whole of his fortune, am- 
ouutiug to over $1,03D,000, to the children by the second and third 
marriages and to his surviving widow. 

By advice of a lawyer, a friend of the family, Fanny determined 
to contest tne will. To do this successfully, it was necessary to 
find the first wife of Mr. Stacy, prove the first marriage, the conse- 
quent illegality of the other two marriages and the illegitimacy of 
all their issue. Miss Stacy, therefore, started in April last, io 
company with an old friend to England in search of her mother. 
For months she searched and advertised and sought in vain; no 
sign of her mother was to be found n jr any news of her to be 
learned. A few months a^o, tbough, she engaged the services of 
some experienced English detectives, and by their aid succeeded. 
She found her mother in a hut in the very lowest part of London, 
inhabited by the poorest classes of Irish laborers, living a disgrace- 
ful life of continual intoxication. The mother recognized her 
daughter by her striking resemblance to her father, and after mnch 
persuasion and earnest entreaty, consented to go to America and 
reform her life, help her daughter to get what was due her and to 
get her own share. The old lady was taken from her squalid 
abode, well and decently clad, taken to Liverpool and put 
aboard the City of Chester, bound for New York. On the voyage 
she was seriously ill owing to her sudden and total deprivation of 
all intoxicating drinks, which Fanny Stacy had absolutely and 
firmly refused to allow her. However, she rallied and got through 
all right, landed safely in New York, and started with her plucky 
daughter for Virginia, where the suit is now pending to set a8id# 
the will of the late Mr. Stacy, iroumaster, of Yixgixiia. 



58 BOARDING-HOUSE LIPE. 



BOABDINGEOUSE LIFE. 



OF aboat eighty-two thousand buildings in the city of New 
York nearly twelve thousand, without count'ng 127 used as 
hotels, are occupied as boarding houses. Of these a large number 
are regularly licensed sailors' and immigrants' houses ; but the 
most of them are used for general purposes, and may be classified 
as firsi-class or fashion ible boarding-houses; second-class boaid- 
ing-houses, for persons of moderate means and immoderate pre- 
tensions, and third-class, or mechanics' and poor clerks' boarding- 
houses. These three cl isses of dwellings are kept by all sorts of 
people, who, provided they do not wish to avail themselves of the 
hotel law, are not required to take out licenses and are at liberty 
to carry on business when and how they chose. They have in- 
creased largely in numbsr during the past few years, partly owing 
to the high rents exacted in this city, which render it practically 
Impossible for p&rsDns with modest incomet* to keep house, and 
partly out of the growing indisposition of people to assume the 
cares and responsibiliiies of housekeeping when they can avoid 
them so cheaply and so reasonably as they now can. 

The fashionable boarding-houses are confined to no particular 
neighborhood; they abound on the side streets in the n^igubor- 
hood of Fifth avenue and even encroach upon that fashionable 
thoroughfare, principally below Thirty-fourth street. They are 
to all appearance private dwellings; it is only by going inside that 
one gets at their real character. 

Take, as a specimen, one kept by a widow lady assisted by her 
married daughter and three single daughters. Mrs. W., the old 
lady, is the relict of a distinguished lawyer who died compara- 
tively poor, and she, having quarreled with his family, and her 
eldest daughter, Mrs. M., having made a mesalliance, were 
obLged to take boarders. The girls are all good looking, well ed- 
110 lied and acc3u3tomed to good society, so, upon the death of the 
father, it was decided to take a largp house up town and receive A 
few gentleman boarders -but gentlemen only. Operations were 
begun, and before long five young men, all of good posi- 
tion, were comfortably installed, paying an average of $12 
per week for board and lodging. Mrs. W. was soon a favorite 
with all, and Mrs, M. might have been, but for several reasons 
was not. First of all she wor3hipp?d Dick. Dick was her hua- 
bmA, a worthless vagabond, who was always away and alwayg 
w.c.'iing money. Him she adored and him she held up as a model 



BOARDING-HOUSE LITE. 69 

to all the boarders, and sang his praises at breakfast, dinner and 
tea. Then she was always sending Dick money, and was conse- 
quently in a state of chronic impecuniosity herself, and to remedy 
this she was wont to borrow money of her boarders, or at least of 
one ot them, a good-natured, easj -going fellow, who could not re- 
fuse Cwho could?) to advance a few dollars to the sister of three 
charming girls who had evidently seen better times. And as Mrs, 
M. was hard up, and the dinner proportionately poor, the ladiea 
would endeavor to compensate for the poverty of the menu by 
dilating] upon their former greatness and the past glories of their 
lato Uncle Ben. Then the young ladies, who in the days of their 
former prosperity had attended the Charity Ball, were never tired 
of telling of the dresses they used to wear, and the gentlemen 
they used to d mce with. Mrs. M. was always most aristocratic 
when she had barrowed some money, and the girls were always 
most patronizing when they had bet gloves on sometning they 
could not possibly lose en, and Uncle Ben and his numerous ex- 
cellent qualities were recited abundantly. When Mr. Brother* 
came home from a wedding and spoke of the beautiful floral dec- 
orations he had beheld, the sisters heard him out, gand Jin chorus 
went him several better in their description of the floral tributea 
which decorated the coffin of their defunct Uncle Ben. When 
the dinner was poorest Mrs. M. would enliven the drooping 
spirits of her boarders by reciting the good things which decked 
the breakfast-table on the occasion of her wedding. And so on, 
to the chapter's end. A more patient, a longer-suflTering set of 
gentlemen than the boarders at Mrs. Ws and Mrs. M's are rarely 
met with. They put up with poor meals, wors^i attendance and 
the worst imposition for months, and all because they felfc a 
genuine sympathy for gentlewomen in distress. But at last the 
climax came. Dick came home and bullied his wife and quarrel- 
ed with the boarders, who were totally neglected for his sake. 
He quarreled with his sisters-in-law, and made himself so gener- 
ally obnoxious that one by one the boarders left and sought other 
quarters, ail inwardly vowing that they would never again take 
board with a family which had "seen better days.'' 

Of course there are others of the first-class boardicg-houses 
where fewer none of the trials at Mrs. W's are met with, but 
these are mostly of the strictly humdrum, respectable kind, car- 
ried on in the style of private or family hotels. The inmates are 
frequently well-to-do married people, occupying a suite of rooms 
to each family, eating at separate tables, and leaving each other 
us severely alone as possible. Tue life in houses of this sort if» 
lis far as can be seen by the casual sojourner, as dull and unevent- 



CO BOAEDING-HOUSE LIFE. 

ful as in an apartment or French-flat honse. There being no 
common sitting-room nor dininej-table there is very little opporta- 
nity for the happening of those iucidents, and interchaogo of 
those amenities whioh render regular boarding-house life inyarl- 
ably diver; ing to say the least of it. 

The second-class boarding houses abound on the far west and 
far east of the side thoroughfares between Fourth aad Fiftieth 
streets. Their rates, varying not so much according to accommo- 
dations as in proportion to the anxiety of the applicant to live in 
any given district and in proportion to the self-confidence in the 
landlady, run all the way from $5 to $10 per week for single rcoms 
and board, vrith "tires invariably extra." These places are usually 
kept fcy widows, or, if the keeper has a husband, he is usually of 
the same stamp as Dicken's Mr Tibbs and does not count. The 
widows have almost invariably, according to their own accounts, 
"seen better days"andbeen "suddenly reduced in circumstances," 
or they are "not regular boarding-house keepers," but having 
houses too large for their small families "receive a few select 
guests for a moderate compensation." The landlady wishes to b« 
looked up to and respected as a hostess, not patronized and toler- 
ated as a housekeeper — and she usually has her way. 

Enter the house of Mrs. Brymmens on Forty-fourth street. The 
boarders are at dinner. Mrs. Brymmens presides. She is a tall, 
bony, angular woman of about forty, not bad-looking, but toe 
strictly proper in appearance to suit an ordinary person. Humor 
HayBshe had a husband once, and no one can say she had not. 
jBut nobody ever saw him, living or dead. Mrs. Brymmens rare- 
ly fipeaks of him, but certain mysterious hints she drops at limes 
have led to the acceptance of a sort of tradition in the house that 
he was an officer m the Federal army during the war and was 
killed in battle. Mrs. Brymmens strengthens this idea by occa- 
sionally waxing unduly patriotic in the cause of the Union and 
Unnecessarily severe in denunciation of traitors. Next to Mrs. B. 
is the doctor, as he is called. The doctor is a clerk in a wholesale 
drug-store, henoe his title and hence his assumption of medical 
gravity and professional dignity when a fellow-boarder sprains hil 
ankle or cuts his finger. The doctor's neighbor is a Mrs. Wynne, 
wife of a commercial traveller, who is away ten months in the 
year. Mrs. Wynne is very amiable and slightly aristocratic when 
Wynne is away, and slightly amiable and very aristocratic when 
Wynne is at home. She knows every distinguished man, wo« 
man and child in the town, and has a way of speaking 
of all entertainments she attends as having "been patron* 
\z d by the eclat of the town, and gone oflF with great elite" (pro- 



BOAEDING HOUSE LIFE. 61 

nonnced elight). Mr. Sonet, a merchant, and Mrs. 6onet, who 
always call each other "dearest" at the table, and are heard quar- 
reling loud and often in their own room; Miss Sonet, who plays 
with the piano, and sings a' the boarders, and is always expect- 
ing an offer and never gets it, and three young men of the usual 
boarding-house stamp fill up the other places. Wynne happens 
to be home tc-day and in very bad humor. He fiowns at the 
Boup; Mrs. Brymmens asks about the condition of the South. Ha 
smells suspiciously at tho fish; Mrs. Brymmens suggests that the 
Centennial will be a glorious affair. Wynne does not answer, but 
turns his attention to the doctor and asks if the weather is not 
very unhealthy ? The doctor makes a long address on that fruit- 
ful subject, and Sonet tries to put in a word, but every time he 
opens his mouth Mrs. Sonet asks bim to pass something, and 
thus succeeds in keeping him quiet. The dinner progresses, 
when Mrs. Brymmens is called from the room. Miss Sonet is 
asked to take the head of the table; she does so, and Mr. Brown, 
a young man with a grandfather who won't die, takes occasion to 
pay her a compliment on the grace with which she presides. The 
doctor snubs him, but Miss S. looks pleased, grms, and tries t? 
blush, and goes upstairs after dinner, convinced that Brown is 
'•going to speak." 

And so on from day to day. If a boarder is punctual in pay- 
ing his bills, he may grumble; if unpunctual, he may not. If a 
man has a wife and pays board for two, he ranks above a single 
man, and may grumble and bully twice as much; if he has a wife 
and daughter, and pays board for three, he may bully and grum- 
ble three times as much. On Sunday everybody wears his or her 
best; turkey (with hot cranberry sauce, a characteristic boarding- 
hou«;e abomination), takes the place of the week-day joint, and 
Mrs. Brymmens substitutes religious sentiment for patriotic fer- 
vor, and asks diligently about the sermons, while Mrs. Wynne 
asks patroniz ngly who was on the Avenue, and if there were any 
handsome dresses. 

When a new boarder comes into the house, be it a gentleman 
or lady, that person is regarded with great suspicion, and for A 
iew days, at any rate, all the old boarders keep close together, gel 
uncommonly intimate, and conspire, by rude staring and stag« 
whispering, to make the new comer as uncomfortable as possible. 
The landlady introduces her new guest to all the others on the 
first opportunity, taking occasion to accompany each introduction 
with a brief biography of the person introduced. 'This she often 
supplements afterwards with mysterious hints as to the family 
oonnections and busineBS prospects of her guests, which leaves 



ei BOARDING HOUcSE LIFE, 

the stranger m a more uncomfortable condition than ever, nntil 
by companionship and that close intimacy which ia the most ob- 
jectioncible feature of boarding-house life, he gets to know every- 
body's business and everybody gets to know his, and mutual re- 
gard or mutual contempt is engeudered, when everything goes on 
as usual. 

Apart from the characters here lightly portrayed, there are 
the servant giil and colored waiter who, whether by reason of hav- 
ing so many masters and mistresses, or bc^cause of the familiar re- 
lations which usually obtain between them and the boarders, are 
more impertinent, lazy and general wortbless than even in any 
hotel. They read your letters, feel the weight of your trunk, 
count your linen, examine inscriptions en the backs of your pic- 
tures, steal your cologne, purloin your powder, borrow your books, 
insist upon regarding ill the loose change in your pockets as their 
rightful perquisites, Life in boart.ing-houses would not be quite 
half what it is if boarding-house servants could be abolished by 
act of the Legislature. 

The third-class boarding-houses, the houses of poor clerks and 
other impecunious persona, are found chiefly m the neighborhood 
of Bleec^er and Macdougal streets, near Washington square, and 
in the side streets below Fourteenth, all the way between Second 
and Ninth avenues. Their rates for board and single room aver- 
age $6 per we:k, and are usually payable in advance. Houses of 
this class are kept by widows of limited means, men with small 
business and smaller capitals, broken-down hotel-keepers and 
others. They are vulgarly known as **hash-houses" owing to the. 
great popularity, at least among the proprietors, of the dish expres- 
sively called "hash." In the higher circles of life this dish ia often 
euphemistically called "ragout;" but among the simple folks now 
under consideration it ia plain "bash" — and they have plenty of 
it. Not to put too fine a point upon it, their whole existence may 
be discribed as a sort of hash in whioh the good, bad and indif- 
ferent are so indiscrin^inately blended as to produce a tolerably 
passable, and altogether unique whole. The better side of human 
nature iii seen oftener in these unpretending boarding houses than 
in those of t^e higher classes. And if some of the boarders do sit 
at table in summer without tbieir coats, and if the lady boarders 
do come down to breakfast sometimes with their hair in curl-pa- 
pers, and if th? boarders do pu. their knives in the butter and into 
their mouths, and do put their elbows on the table, there is, never- 
theless, a great deal of good to be found in these places. Many a 
poor clerk out of employment has had cause to be thankful to his 
andlady for the long credit she has given him, and the free 



SOME CURIOSITIES OF CRIME. 63 

board and lodging he has got from her when he was unable to 
pay for it. And these landladies have a great deal to bear from 
the class of people they deal with. It is considered legitimate 
sport among a certain class of blackguards to cheat boarding- 
house keepers, and many a poor woman, struggling hard for ft 
living, has been the victim of what are known to the profession 
as "boarding-bouse bilks." For, unless a boarding-house is re- 
gularly licenced under what is known as the hotel law, the keeper 
cannot legally detain a boarder's luggage and effects for an un- 
paid bill, and even if he could it would generally be found that 
by the time the landlady's patience was exhausted, or perhaps 
long before, all tbe convertible effects of the delinquent boarder 
had been stealthily removed and converted into cash, either at ft 
pawnbroker's or at a second-hand clotbirg store. To sue would, 
of course, be useless, and so the boarding-housp keeper is not un- 
frequently the victim of well-meaning but impecunious persons 
and of regular swindlers, who, to use their own phrpise, "find 
moving cheaper than paying rent." 



SOME CURIOSITIES OF CBIMK 

THE question of crime is always an interesting study, ftnd it* 
causes and peculiarities, m a city like New York, where it is 
constantly and steadily on the increase, cannot fail to prove in- 
structive and profitable reading to the student of social evils, and 
their possible remedies. 

From the published criminal statistics it can be seen that, 
while it is impossible to tell the exact number of persons that 
might be classed as habitual criminals in our city population, it is 
indispitabie that, counting up the number of prisoners of ths 
rank of felons in our State prisons, the class is found to be in- 
creaising immensely, and the persentage of criminals to the popa- 
lation increases much more rapidly than the normal increase of 
population by immigration and birth. 

The increase of crime is attributed to tbe increasing density 
of the population in the city and the influx of persons who liv« 
by crime, and who immigrate every year. This being the richest 
State in the Union, and having the greatest facilities for crimei 
Bgainst property, tbe criminals from other states and other coan- 
triesmakeit their residence to ft great degree, and their tempo- 



64 SOME CURIOSITIES OF CRIME, 

rary sojourn in a greater measure. The records of the Prison As- 
Bociatiou show that the proportion of foreign-born criminals is 
not only in excess, but the crimes against property are connected 
with that class of prisoners who seem to have floated into thig 
State as criminals, that in, cracksmen and burglars. Then come in 
the boys, the youth who are born among us mostly, that is, from 
among us more than from the rural districts. When they are 
traced back to their homes, they aro found not to have sprung up 
from the well-educated and the well-housed; but the region south 
of Fourteenth street, for example, and the tenement-house dis- 
tricts, the district-dens of the city, have actually been the birth 
places of a very large proportion of these criminals that we now 
find in the penitentiaries and Stat© prisons. The younger crimi- 
nals seem to have come almost exclusively from the worst tene- 
ment-house districts, that is, when traced back to their homes in 
this city. The Sixth Ward, Little Water Street, Cow Bay and the 
Five Points, have graduated some of the very worst criminals 
ever known to the law, and, though these localitie* have been 
somewhat improved of late years, they are still pest-holes of crime 
and immorality. Wherever improvements have been made, they 
have been followed by a proportionate decrease in crime. 

On this question of the connection of crime and tenement 
houses the Superintendent of the House of Refuge gives some in- 
teresting facts. Of 500 houses, residences of criminals, recently 
visited, 410 were tenement houses. These places were occupied 
by many families, having numerous children, and the rooms were 
usually uncleao, and in some cases hlthy. From ten to twenty 
families are frequently found under one roof. One house was 
found, occupied by thirty-two families, having in the aggregate 
ninety-six children. The influenca of these houses and their but- 
roundiags upon their inmates can well be imagined. It shows 
itself, not only in the prevalence of gross immorality and the fre- 
quency of predatory crimes, but it adds to the already sickening 
details, published from time to time, of the heredity of criminal 
character. The ignorance, brutality, habitual crime, and utter 
infamy which continually make the dark places of the city dan- 
gerous and forbidding, and which are visible plague spots in oar 
city life, mark the very name and record of social and physical 
causes of degeneration and prominent vices, with which society 
never interferes sufficiently nor soon enough. For it is not mere 
punishment of the criminal that we want. To remove the stigma oC 
perpetual and professional wrong doing on the part of a large pro* 
portion of our population, we must remove the causes. 

It is positivel / alarming to note the immense proportion of 



SOME CURIOSITIES OF CRIME. 66 

refuge boys among the criminal classes, refage boys who have been 
sent to so-called reformatory institutions to be made honest, and 
usually emerge f I om them ten times worse than ever. Dividing 
the total number of criminals into two classes, those who are not 
refuge boys and those who are, we find that 68.83 per cent, of the 
former are habitual criminals, while the latter show 98. 15 per cent. 
It thus appears that, while refuge boys constitute a little less than 
one-fourth of the prison population for all crimes, they furnish 
29.41 per cent, of the habitual criminals, or nearly one-third. Com- 
paring crimes against property with the total number of crimes of 
refuge boys, we find that 79.45 per cent, of the latter class of pris- 
oners» and that 90.56 per cent, of the refuge boys, in prison, are 
tinder sentence for crimes against property. The figures in a like 
comparison for crimes against the person are 20.55 percent, of the 
latter to 9.44 per cent, of the refage boys, or less than one-half. 
As to the career and ancestral characteristics of these boys, we 
find that t':e average at which their childhood was neglected is 
8 1-4 years, they began crime at 9 years and 8 months, and they 
went to the refuge at 12 years and 9 months. Moral degradation 
began at an average age of 14 years and 9 months, being 1 year and 
6 months earlier than the average of other criminals. They con- 
tracted disease at 19 years and 6 months. Dr. Harris reports a 
case of a boy who began a vicious life at 6 years of age. At 5 he 
was a neglected child, luuning wild in the streats of New York, 
the victim of the licentiousness of an abandoned woman at 6, in 
the House cf Refuge at 9, in the Poor House at 10, with his mother 
and sisters, and beginning the career of a drunkard at the same 
age, bis parents being both habitual drunkards as well as himself. 
Both bis parents are habitual criminal'^, his father having served 
two terms in State prison and two in the Penitentiary. This boy 
has since become demented. What romance could possibly sur- 
pass in horrible fiction the ghastly reality of this brief career? 

The officers of the Prison Association recently made, and are 
still making a manly fight against what they very properly con- 
sider one of the chief causes of the increase of crime, viz. : the in- 
discriminate herding together of prisoners of various ages and of 
various degrees of moral turpitude in such close proximity that 
the mere beginner in Clime is soon totally corrupted by the old 
stagers. Though this practice is against the law of the State, it is 
common in all our city prisons. In the Tombs two and even three 
men are crowded together, into a cell barely large enough for one. 
In the Raymond Street Jail in Brooklyn the practice is even worse, 
for here old men and little boys are left together, uawatched, in a 
dark corridor outside their cells, and on the other side, old women 



C« OUB BOHEMIAN COLONY. 

and littld girls, and women with babies at their^breasts are mixed 
up in one conglomerate mass of filth, dirt, crime and obscenity, 
and God help the beginner in crime who is forced once to inhale 
this damnably noxious atmosphere. There are instances without 
number of the criminally cruel effects of this imbecile course, in- 
Btances of boys arrested for throwing stones or for some other 
trifling offense, thrown iato jail with eome oldthieves, from whom 
they have learned the first step to the State prison; instances of 
little girls, innocent of serious offences, suddenly thrown into 
close intimacy with abandoned women and emerging with them 
into a life of shame. Can any crime for which a prisoner can be 
punished equal in downright wickedness the great and unpardon- 
able crime of tha authorities who permit such things as these to 
pass under their eyes? 



OUR BOHEMIAN COLONY. 



THEBE are settled in New York between 15,000 and 18,000 Bo- 
hemians, people whose modes of life, opinions and political 
eentiments differ so widely from those which obtain amoag some 
other foreign residents as to deserve special notice. They are 
more clannish than other foreigners and more tenacious of their 
national manners, customs and language tban even the Germans 
of the working classes. The New York Bohemians live entirely 
among themselves, and the neighborhood which they have se- 
lected for their own lies between Bleecker and Twelfth streets, 
First avenue and East Biver. The thoroughfares included within 
these limits abound in tenement houses, and whole blocks of 
them, especially in First, Second, Third, Fourth and Fifth streets 
are inhabited exclusively by Bohemian families from garret to cel- 
lar. Within these limits may be found nearly all the Bohemians 
in the city, excepting a few families which recently migrated up 
town and established branch settlements in East Fifty-fourth and 
East Eighty-second streets. The writer was told by one who lives 
among these people and knows them well, that it is a very rare 
occurrence for one of them to live at any distance from the rest of 
the colony, and that even^those who moved up town make regular 
and frequent visits to the parent settlement. 

A very large proportion of the Bohemians are engaged iu 
cigar-making others, are tailors, shoe-makers, artisans and^saloon- 
keepers, and, almost without exception, they belong to the work- 



OUR BOHEMIAN COLONY 67 

^ng classes. Among themselves they speak their own peculiarly 
musical language, and in the neighborhood where they live Bo- 
hemian is the only languapje heard on the streets or seen 
on the shop sign-boards. Tbey are organized iato numerous 
benevolent, musical aTid social societies, exact copies of those 
which mate up a large part of the life among the working classes 
in their own country. Prominent among these is a club com- 
posed exclusively of women, and established for the purpose of 
mutual relief and assistance in time of illness or other distress. 
This club numbers some three hundred members, and at the 
rooms, on Fourth street, where the meetings are held, there are 
displayed banners and insignia bearing mystic signs and evident- 
ly unpronounceable Bohemian mottoes, and a large frame con- 
taining the portraits of about one hundred of the most prominent 
women in the society. A dramatic society gives periodical and 
invariably well attended performances in the Bohemian language 
at one or another of the halls which abound in the Bohemian 
quarter. 

The lager-beer saloon, as such, does not exist among the Bo- 
hemians, but the Cesky Hostinec, or Bohemian tavern, takes its 
place and fulfills all its functions and more. There is at least one 
Cesfcj/ iZb.s/ nee to every three tenement-houses in the Bohemian 
quarter; It serves not only as a beer-shop, but also as a reading- 
room, a resort for its patrons after working hours, and answers 
all the purposes of a cafe and club. Here any night one may 
meet the Bohemian in his true element, his long pipe in his 
mouth, bis foaming glass of -beer by his side, and occasionally 
his newspaper in f'ont of him. Here, too, sometimes, and es- 
pecially on Saturday nights, the women drop in for their weekly 
recreation, interchange of greetings, and the payment of the week- 
ly bill; for the Cesky Hostinec, for the purpose of retaining its 
steady custom, gives a week's credit. Every customer is provid- 
ed with a little book, which he sends to the place with every 
order, the order is entered in the book, and at the end of the 
week the accDunt is made up and paid. The Ceaky Hostiwc is 
used also as the meeling-roori of the innumerable Bohemian soci- 
eties, and in most of these tabernacles are to be seen, hanging on 
the wallis, calls, no'ices, &c., in the Bohemian language, and ban- 
ners, flags and other insignia. The most noticeable of these 
places are those of Nepivoda, at 152 Fourth street; Huback, at 533 
Fifth street ; Stocek, at 232 Third street ; and the headquarters of 
the np-town branch colony, namely, the Hostinec, of Peter Stastny, 
at 320 East Fifty-fourth street. 

The Bohemians do not read American papers, nor, as a nil«. 



«8 OUR BOHEMIAN COLONY. 

German papers. They have a daily published in their own lan- 
guage, viz., the Dehiicke Llsty, or working-men's paper» which 
describes itself as "the organ of the Socialist Working-men's Sec- 
tion ia the United States." This title tells at once the character 
of the paper, and indicates the opinions held by its subscribers 
and readers. Its columns contain, besides the current news of 
the day, editorials on Bohemian politics, on the excise question 
and on the labor troubles. It prints the platform adopted recently 
by the Social Working-man's party at Newark, a list of all the Bo- 
hemian societies, orders and lodges, and other matters of interest 
exclusively to the Bohemians. The Delnicke Lis'y is found in 
every Eostinec, and is read by all the dwellers in the Bohemian 
quarter. 

The writer recently made a tour of this quarter and spent 
much time in the various taverns and other resorts in conversation 
"With the frequenters of those places. For (he most part they are 
very intelligent and court ous people, communicative and interest- 
ing, and, in appearance, not unlike the average German working- 
man, except for a tendency that they have to grow long "impe- 
rials." A majority of them, according to the statements of the 
proprietors of the taverns mentioned and judging from their own 
conversation, hold Socialistic views and a large number belong, 
nominally at least, to the Socialist Working-Man's p&rty. 

One of the most intelligent and respectable Bohemians whom 
the writer met said, in course of conversation about labor matters 
in America: "I suppose we are very much like other working- 
men; we want to be fairly paid for fair work, and, as the present 
system does not give us fair pay or even assure us steady work, 
we must try some other when we can. We, who know what the 
oppression of aristocracies has done in Europe, are very deter- 
mined not to give aristocracies any more show in America than 
we can help, Yet you know that the rich here are rich enough to 
be aristocrats, and the working-men are getting to be worse off 
every day." 

"Yes," interrupted a young man who sat at the next table, 
*'look at the cigar-makers. We have got a skilled trade and a hard 
one; the bosses are rich; you never hear of a cigar firm failing, 
and yet they are always shaving our wages" — 

"It is not the shaving of wages," added the first speaker; it is 
not that so much— the system is wrong. As long as the bosses 
can get men to work for little or nothing they will do it. Ttiey 
must be prevented from having the power to do it. Wo must 
force the bosses to consult with their men about prices " 

"Yes," put in the cigar-maker, "and if they wont they mast 



OUR BOHEMIAN COLONY. 69 

be made to. We have got wives and children as well as those 
fellows." 

"But," suggested the writer, **d^J you not seek aid through 
politics to amend the laws?" 

"Oh politics!" exclaimed the two Bohemians, in derision. 

" What has politics to do with the workiag-man," asked the 
first speaker, *' except to tax him with licenses and other things, 
and tell hi a he shall not drink beer when he wants it most ? Why, 
that is the working-man's worst enemy. Politics is taking from 
us ia taxes the little money tbat the bosses pay us. I ask my 
landlord to reduce my rent, and he says the taxes are too heavy, 
I complain that meat and clothes are too dear, and the butcher 
and clothier say the taxes are so heavy. I tell my boss he must 
pav me more wages, and ha says business is bad and the taxes are 
heavy! To the devil with politics, say I !" 

*' Yes, and to the devil with politicians, I say I' * added the 
cigar-maker. 

" But how will Socialism help us in these troubles ?" asked 
the writer. 

" If Socialism or anything else will enable us to tax the men 
who can affjrd to be taxed, and let aione the working-man who 
cannot make enougti to live, it will help us," was the reply. 

The general conversation in the Bohemian colony was in this 
lone. Everywhere was found a feeling of discontent and depres- 
sion, and a sentiment of absolute hostility to politics and taxes. 
"What do we get; how do we benefit because this is a free repub- 
lic?'' asked one. *• It costs more in taxes in a free republic than 
it does at home, and you get less for it." *' One man cuts down 
our wages, and another man makes our taxes larger," said an- 
other; " what wonder that people are Socialists, and strike and 
Btriye for better things?" 



70 A DUKE WHO KEEPS AN INN. 



A DUKE WHO KEEPS AN INN. 

fTlHE somewhat famous hotel and restaurant in HoboTsen, oppo* 
-*- Bite the ferry landing, called "The Duke's House," is known 
"by that name to most New Yorkers and to all Jerseymen. It has 
long been a place of resort f jr the better classes of Hoboken, and 
has been the scene of many an enjoyable dinner given by wealthy 
gourmets of other cities, and especially by some foreign residents 
of New York. Its proprietor, a ta 1, handsome and elderly for- 
eigner, is one of the characters of the place, and, partly because 
of his distinguished appearance and partly because few people 
k;iow his name, he is almost universally called "The Duke."' He 
responds to the title, and not only his customers bat the servants 
in his emploj use it. Few of the people who thus address him 
have any idea that he really has an indisp::tib!e right to the 
title, that he is in fact a re 1 duke and a meuaber of one of the old- 
est and noblest families of Italy. Hd is the Duke of Calabritti. 

Twenty-five years ago the Duke of Calabritti was one of the 
foremost noblemen of Italy and the leader of iho jeunesse doree of 
Kaples. Young, handsome and very wealthy, related to the oldest 
and noblest families of Southern Italy, the owner of the famous 
old Palazzo Calabritti. and the villas, farms and lands of great 
Talue, he was feted, co-jrted and envied. He was eiven to gam ng, 
but as he played well and was rich enough to meet all his losses 
this did not at first aflf-:ct his position. He was a favorite in Ne- 
apolitan society, and for a time a very king among men. His 
great physical beauty and his fastidious dress earned for him the 
name of "The Beau Brummel of Naples." 

While stili young the Duke of C ilabritti contracted a mar- 
riage with an English lady, the daughter of a wealthy London 
gentleman. The match was not viewed with favor by his faojily, 
of the house of Pignatell, and wrou3;ht dismay among the match- 
making mothers, and the hopeful daughters of Neapolitan society. 
But the Duke was satisfied. After a tour of the Continent be 
brought his bride home and installed her in the historic palace 
whicn bears his name, and lor a few months lived in married hap- 
piness. About this time, however, he becan to have very bad 
luck at the gaming table, losing largely and steadily. First his 
ready money went, and th^n he borrowed ard still lost. Cue 
after the other his estates fell into the hands of the mone} -lenders 
until he became a comparatively poor mm, and a positively poor 
nobleman. He then discovered, for the first time, that he had 



A. DUKE WHO KEEP3 AN INN. 71 

beeD the victim of a conspiracy on the part of a number of notori* 
ous blacklegs. Jt was too late, however, to repair the losses he ha^ 
sustained, and his robbers had escaped with their spoils, Hia 
family, angry at the disgrace brought upon their home, had aq 
open breach with the Dute, and he determined to leave the coun<» 
try. 

He went to Paris, where he lived for some months, and after- 
wards to Bru seU and the Nnherlaads. Tired of wandering 
about, he determined to settle in London, and was for some time 
a lion in the clubs and salons of that city. He was still a gambler, 
and frequently played, wiih varying fortune, for high stakes. 
Playing one night at the house of a well-known English noble- 
man, he had a serious difficulty with one of his opponents. Just 
as every one had begun to forget the affair, it was recalled by the 
act of tDe Duke of Calabritti himself. In some way the name of a 
woman became mixed up with it, and the Duke in a lit of anger 
revenged himself upon his enemy by an act which brought hinx 
into serious trouble. But for the timely aid of a friend, he would 
doubtless have been disagreeably dealt with. The Prince of Car- 
rini. at the time Neapolitan Ambassador in London, interested 
himself in the Duke's behalf, and succeeded in getting permission 
for him to leave the country. The Duke accepted the terms, and 
determined to come to America. 

Meanwhile the Duke's relations with hia wife had become un« 
pleasant. Influenced by her family, she refused to accompany 
him in his enforced emigration, and he accordingly left her be- 
hind. Withher dowry, which had been settled upon her before 
her marriage, she had ample means, and, shortly after her hus- 
band's departure, she returned with ber three children to Naples 
and took up her residence ia the Palazzo Calabritti, where she has 
since lived in strict retirement. 

The Duke came from London to New York in 1858 and lived 
for a time at the Astor House somewhat splendidly. He was ac- 
coaapanied by a beautiful Parisian girl, wbo was generally sup- 
posed to be the Duchess of Calabritti. Alter a few months of his 
sojourn here ttie Duke's money besan to be exhausted, and, una- 
ble longer to support the expenses he was incurring, he deter- 
mined to go South. The Parisienne remained in the city and 
opened a millinery store, sending her business cards around to 
people wbo had entertained her at their homes, and thereby creat- 
ed a social sensation which lasted for some time and which ia 
probably not yet altogether forgotten. 

The Duke next w nt to New Orleans, and after a sojourn of a 
t(-,\v weeks there travelled Incognito to oouth America, seeing the 



T2 A DUKE WHO KEEPo AN INN. 

Bights of that continent, and ocoasionally, of course, gambling. 
He was everywhere well received, and made many friends. After 
a tour of several monihfi be returned about 1860 to New York, and 
determined to settle down here. His eyes fell upon the quipt, 
out-of-the way settlement of Hoboken, where he thought he would 
not be disturbed. His plan was to engage in some business which 
would get hJm a living, somewhere far enough away from tempta- 
tion to enable him to keep a promise he had made to himself to 
give up gaming forever. 

He accordiugly opened a little bar-room and restaurant near 
the ferry, and kept it so skillfully, and devoted himself so entirely 
to the entertainment of bis guests that it became very prosperous, 
and he made money. About eight years ago he built his present 
house, which has become celebrated for its e-scellent French and 
Italiin dinners, for its choice wines, and, above all, for its maca- 
roni, in the cooking of which the Duke is an adopt. He goes to 
the market h'.mself every morning, accompanied by his servant, 
and selects his own meat, game and vegetables. As a rule, he 
superintends only the general arrangements of the house; but, on 
special occasions, when distinguished gentlemen are his guests, 
he not only cooks the macaroni himself, but also waits on the 
table. On such an occasion one day there chanced to be present 
a young Italian nobleman, Nicolo Caraffa-Policastro, Duke of 
Forli, who was making a pleasure-trip in the United States. The 
families of Caraffa and Pignatelli had been very intimate in old 
times in Naples, and when the Duke of Forli was a boy the Duke 
of Calabritti, then in his prime was a visitor at the Palazzo Poli- 
castro. As soon as the elder Duke saw the younger Duke sit 
down at the table he eyed him anxiously, and during the whole 
dinner he never took his eyes off him. When the dessert was 
brought the Duke of Forli looked up and his eyes met those of 
the landlord and waiter. 

« I beg your pardon," exclaimed the Duke of Calabritti, 
trembling and pale, **but are you not from Naples?" 

• Yes,' replied the Duke, looking perplexed. 

*• Is not your name Nicolo Caraffa-Policastro ?" asked Cala- 
britti again. 

*'Yes," said the other, and suddenly recognizing his question- 
er, *' You are the Duke of Calabritti !" 

In a minute the two men were in each other's arms, Calabritti 
exclaiming, with the tears rolling down his cheeks, ' 'My Nicolino, 
my Nicolino, I have had you on my knee before you could talk 
aay Nicolino.' 

Only one man in the party had known who Calabritti was, 



A MONKEYS' FINISHINa SCHOOL. 73 

The others were at once let into the secret, and promised not to 
divulge it. For the Duke is not at all anxious to make his higl; 
rank known. To most of his acquaintances he is simply a verv 
mysterious and courteous gentleman who pays his bills promptly 
and never refuses to do an ace of charity when asked, a man wh<> 
is evidently s'lperior to his calling, but who is not disposed to di 
valge his affairs and will brook no questioning. To those who knov 
him he says, "I like America and I like to live here. Being here, 
I, of coarse, want to do like the Americans and make my own liv- 
ing. I choose this business because in it I am always sure of tv o 
thina[s which, on the whcle, are essential lo life— a good dinner 
and a boitle of good wine. If I get tired of this, which is very 
unlikely, I mav go back to It ily, but at present I am very well 
satisaed and feel al:ojretber cent nted." 

In the Duke's household in Hoboken is an old gentleman of 
very distinguisaed appear.ince and very reserved n^anner, who 
came with him here from Italy, He lives quietly, rarely talks to 
any one, dresses well, and seems to have no occupation. Gos- 
sips say that the mysterious gentleman is a relative of tbe Duke, 
but those who claim to know say tbat he is an oid family servant 
of the houFB of Pignatelli, who alone was true to his master, and 
whom he has most kindly and honorably declaied shall bo taken 
care of as long as be lives, 

ThePalizzo CaLibi'ittJ, where the Du tee was born, where he 
epent the most evrntful years or his life, and where his wife and 
tbe future Duke of Calabriiti still live, is well-known as one of 
the handsomest buildings in N iples. It stand-} at tbe entrance of 
the Chiaja, and makes a strong contrast to tbe comfortable little 
Hoboken hoiel, known as the " Dake's Hoase. " 



A MONEETS' FINISHING BGHOOL. 

MONKEYS are not born ready educated any more than men end 
womea. They require to be taught, and are obliged to 
Btady bard before they iCAoh that high state of develapment in 
which they are frequently found in circuses, at side-shows, on 
fitreet-orgars and in the other walks of monkev life. la their 
primitive condition monkeys are not at all mere intelligent than 
babies, but, they Dave much more aptitude for acquiring knowl- 
edge, and are more amenable to discipline than the young ones of 
the human race. A Urge number of monkeys are edacatad in 



7i A MONKEYS' FINISHING SCHOOL. 

New York, whence they are pent to delight the hearts of small 
boys and sight-seers all over the country. Unfortunately they 
have not the advantages that human beings have ; their early sur- 
roundings are the reverse of respectable, and their instructors are 
generally men and boys who have failed to distinguish themselves 
in other and higher avocations. A few weeks ago, I visited "a 
young monkeys' finishing school," situated on Baxter street, near 
Worth. On arriving at No. 18, I inquired of an Italian fruit-vender 
the way to the institution, and was led through an alley strewn 
with garbage, dust, and old rags, up the rickety staircase of a two- 
story hut in the rear, into a room about 10 feet by 8, in which 
were three men, two boys, two half naked children, a large dog, a 
small monkey, two bedsteads, a barrel of rotten fruit, and an ex- 
Uuited fetates soldier waiting with his organ, which was in need 
of repairs. The windows, the panes of which were composed in 
equal parts of glass, paper, rags and shoes, looked out upon a 
back-yard in which was hung an abundance of linen recently 
washed, but, judging from the appearance of the men in the neigh- 
borhood, not for the in-dwellers of the house. The proprietor of 
the establishment, an old and almost blind Italian who, although 
he has for years been travelling about in the country educating 
montejs in New Orleans and California, cannot speak a word of 
English, introduc3d himself. He expatiated in terms of warm 
praise, bad French and worse Italian, on the peculiar characteris- 
tics of the monkey and the unfailing effect of bis method of in- 
struction. 

The monkey was then taken out of his box, and the old Ital- 
ian having picked up the two children and chucked them into a 
corner, and rolled the barrel of rotten fiuit over to keep them 
company, a space was cleared for his performance. The animal 
began, of bis own accord by standing on his head, turning a 
somersault and pulling my walking-stick out of my hand. But 
the professor seemed to reprehend this unprovoked activity, and 
his pupil was promptly brought to order by the sight of a stout 
riding-whip. Then, all being in order, the monkey went through 
military movements with a gun, stood on his head, danced a 
hornpipe, and, after much persuasion with the stock of the gun, 
walked the leugth of the room on his forelegs. The company 
then adjourned to the back yard aforementioned, where the dog 
was saddled, and the monkey mounted him and rode round the 
place in the most manly style. 

The professor said it bad taken him nearly six months to 
teach the monkey the tricks be knew, and he did not consider 
him perfect yet. Nevertheless, he would sell him to a circus for 



A MONKEYS' FINISHING SCHOOL. 75 

$300. He had got him from an importer of monkeys, who had 
brought him from Africa. He had recently sold several little 
black monkeys, Capuchins he called them, at prices ranging from 
$70 to $150, according to the number of tricks they could per- 
form; he charged so much for eacb monkey, and so much extra 
for each trick. He did not think there was any profit in selling 
one monkey at a time; he makes most by selling beveral together. 
He gets most of his animals from the importers; ihose which are 
tractable he trains for shows, circuses and organs, and those 
which are not tractable he sells to the Park Commissioners for ex- 
hibition in Central Park. 

Continuing luy tour around Baxter street, I learned that there 
was scarcely one Italian peanut merchant or ragpicker who had 
not at least one monkey for sale. Some of them go about with their 
pets concealed on their persons, always ready to produce them 
when there seems to be a prospect of a trade. Others leave them 
at home, spending their leisure hours in training them in the 
hope that they will eventually bring a good price. Among these 
men the monkey has a reputation for gentleness of disposition 
and docility of character which is hardly borne out by the manner 
in which they treat them. The monkeys ail seem to understand 
Italian, French and English equally well, and the sad cast of their 
countenances apparently shows that, with them at least, a talent 
for modern languages is a matter of life and death. 

The largest dealer in monkeys in the city is a man in Chat- 
ham street, near the Bowery. He buys his animals direct from 
the importer, and has a stock on hand, including specimens of 
the Capuchin, a native of Guinea, the Cacajo, of Souih Africa, the 
ape, the gorilla, the baboon and the chimpanzee. They racge 
in price from $15 for a baby monkey, to $1,500 for a large, full- 
grown baboon. They are all uneducated, and have yet to be 
trained before they can be of much use to th^j circuses and side- 
showmen for whom they are intended. The Chatham street 
dealer sells a large number of small monkeys to people who make 
pets of them. Old maids and eccentric bachelors have a predilec- 
tion for this class of domestic toys. The monkey is, strange to say, 
rather delicately constituted, and some of the race, particularly 
the variegated monkey with chestnut body, yellow head, yellow 
cheeks and black limbs, and the green monkey, with black face, 
are never seen in this country, because they cannot live outside of 
their own climate. The colored monkeys seen here are not the 
genuine article, and are usually got up to order, in the fashion of 
Mr. Batnum's woolly horse. 



76 AMATEUE ACTOKS. 



AMATEUR ACTORS, 



SOCIETY is continnaJly seeking new toys. Its latest play things 
aie amateur dramatic societies and private reading clubs. 
Not tbat either of these institutions is absolutely novel, but they 
have never existed ia such large numbers nor enjoyed such general 
popularily as now. It matters little whether this fact is due to 
an increased dei^ire on the part of young people for literary recre- 
ation and mortal self-improvement, or whether — which is a great 
deal more likely — it is due to the hard times and consequent scarci- 
ty of balls, parties and receptions, which rendeisit necessary 
for society folk to seek seme n&w way of killing time. Ceitain it 
is that these institutions are growing apace, and no well-regulated 
young pel son can afford to disrcgaid the prevailing fashion which 
requires the joining of one or the other or both. The amateur 
dramatic societies and reading clubs up-town are numbered by 
hundreds. Hardly a block of brown fctone fronts from Twenty- 
third street to Harlem but has its society. They are so inexpen- 
sive, unostentatious, sestbetic and ostensibly innocint that p.ipas 
and mammas greet their formation with satisfaction and yield a 
ready consent to their daughters' joining them. Innocent old 
folk ! They little imagine that these clubs are simply the seeds of 
dances, hops, parties, and suppers which are, in the long run, des- 
tined to be far more expensive than the same number of regular 
balls would be. 

Amateur dramatic societies, being the more pretentious of 
the two kinds of clubs alluded to, come first in order for consid- 
eration. Ihey are composed usually of twenty or thirty young 
ladies and gentlemen, with an occasional fprinkling of stage- 
struck married people. It is by no means essential that the 
members should i:osess any histrionic ability. On the contrary, 
in many cases, absence of talent in this respect is rather a re- 
commendation, as it puts all upon nn equal footing, and obviates, 
to some extent, the danger of jtalousy and rivalry. The organi- 
zation of these societies is free of expense. The damages are, so 
to speak, indirect, coming in the form of bills for costumes and 
stage appointments, the former being defrayed by the actors and 
actresses, and the latter by assessments upon the gentlemen mem- 
beri. The performiinees are given at Ihb residences of the lady 
members, each of whom plays hostess in her turn. And it is 
here that the expense to papa and mamma comes in. After the 
play is over, and the tragedy has been transformed into a comedy. 



AMATEUE ACTORS. 77 

or the comedy has been metamorphosed into a tragedy, as the 
case may be, of course the young folks dance, and of course the 
old folks provide the supper and ultimately pay, at least for the 
lades' costumes, and so are wheedled, unknowingly, and in spite 
of themselves, into giving what is to all intents and purposes a 
regular party. 

The amateur dramatic society-man is not the most modest of 
his race. He aspires to be a great actor. The old-fashioned par- 
lor comedies, which his grandfather played in, do not satisfy the 
fire of ambition which burns within bim. He dubs his society the 
*'Booth," the "Wallack," the "Thespian," the "Birret" or the 
**Salvini,"and goes m for the heaviest of comedy, the lightest of 
tragedy. He plays C.aude Melnotte and his sweetheart playa 
Pauline, or he practices the lex tali<>nis and murders Macbaih, 
while the least unobtrusive of the lady members makes short work 
of that monarch's wife. Any play in which there is plenty to say 
and little to do will suit. The amateur actor is generally pretty 
good at t liking, but, somehow, or other, as soon as the table-cloth, 
which does service for a curtain, rises and discovers him on the 
floor of the back parlor, which passes for a stage he loses all con- 
trol over bis muscles and is strangely unable to use his limbs. He 
is all right in the rehearsals, but on the awful night of the per- 
formance he is otherwise. He usually complains of the chilliness 
of the room and fears an a'tack of the dumb-ague; be walks furi- 
ously up and down behind the scenes and bids tbe prompter be 
careful to speak loudly and distinctly. He is in mortal agony lest 
his mustache f.Jl off, he is afraid his wig is awry, his boots are so 
tight he cannot walk, and he has no pockets in his clothes and 
does not know what on earth to do with his hands. He is mumbling 
to himself all the time the other drama is personce are speaking, 
and is careful never to look at the person he is addressing, consis- 
tently and conscientiously stiri-g at the blank wall, right over 
the head of the audience, while he is deliverirg his lines. Ten 
to one he is cast for the lover of the girl he docs not care a p!n for, 
while his hated lival is playing the lover to the girl he adores, or 
he is disconcerted by the sight of a man in the audience who has 
plajed his part and who grins when he blunders in his lines; in 
fact.^there is no end to the sad posdbilities of dire disaster which 
befall the amateur actor on his road to fame in private theatricals. 

The young lady 16 more at home. She don't care whether 
she knows her lines or not, for nobody can hear her in either 
case. She alw-ays takes care to speak in a whisper, q rite inaudi- 
ble two feet fr^^m the stage, and to this extent she is safe. Stie is 
Qsually more thoughtfal of her dress and its claims to the notice 



78 AVIATEUR ACTORS. 

of the audience than she is of her part in the play. She, too, is 
all right at rehearsal, ba^, when the night of the playing comes on 
sue is apt to forget her cue, and keep the audieiice and actors 
waiting a minute or two in dead silence while she gives a last 
touch to her dress and takes a last look in the glass. Then she 
enters, radiant, beautiful, just on the point of taking np the 
thread of the dialogue quite forgotten by the audie nee, when a 
burst of applause greets her, disconcerts her, and she stands si- 
lent and bathed in— rouge, until the voice of the prompter, heard 
loud above all the applause, spurs her into action again. No 
matter what may be the e^^igency of the dramatic situation she 
will allow no unusual familiaiities, not even the se mblance of a 
kiss, nor the shadow of an embrace. She will wear modern jew- 
elry, no matter now ancient the time of the play, and has not the 
remotest idea of the importance of small details in stage business. 
The male amateur is always eminently satisfied with his own 
dramatic and elocutionary powers, and scorns the extraneous aid 
of professionals. Not bo the female amateur, who takes les- 
sons in elocution and deportment from Miss Fanny Morant, or 
from the modest person who advertises in the daily papers, as fol- 
lows : 

AN accomplisliecl actress and dramatic reader teaches elocution, prepares 
pupils for the stage, instructs and directs rehearsals; voice-buildiag tor 
liie pulpit, bar and stage; making the weakest voice smooth and powerful. 
Address ''LADY TEAZLE," Post-Offlce. 

In time the female amateur becomes sublimely self-confident, 
and indulges in wild dreams of appearing on the professional stage 
and wearing dresses like unto those of Fanny Davenport. The 
male amateur, on the other hand, looks down with sublime con- 
descension upon the dramatic profession, and thinks he does it 
honor when he deigns to play with it. 

The height of ambition in the breast of the average amateur 
actor is reached when he is allowed to appear in public for the 
benefit of some charitable institution — and charity covers his sins, 
among others. His appearance at the Union League or Terrace 
Garden Theatre in the plays of "A Serious Family," *'The Colleen 
Bawn" or "The Hunchback" becomes a tradition in his family, 
and he is never tired of describing his triuuipli and the fit of his 
costume. On occasions of public performances, however, the 
lady amateurs u^ually back out, their papas objecting to the un- 
due publicity of the thing, and their places are filled by profes- 
sional actresses who cannot get an engagement elsewhere. This 
ifi no exaggeration, for, as everybody knows, there is no severer 
test of the amiability, patience and long suffering of a reasonable 
being than attendance at an amateur entertainment in aid of some 



AMATEUB ACTORS. 79 

soup-kitchen or hospital. Having got your money for the tickets, 
and that money going to the charity to be benefited and not to 
them, the performers feel in no way called upon to consult your 
interests or to consider your feelings. They play to amuse them- 
selves, and, if they have any sense of humor at all, their object must 
generally be attained. The more pretentious of the regularly or- 
ganized dramatic societies are constantly on the lookout for oppor- 
tunities to appear in public and to hide their ambition under the 
mantle of charity. They are a perennial source of annoyance to 
the better class of benevolent associations, whose clerks are kept 
busy answering and declining offers of performances and subse- 
quent select receptions for their benefit. They are, at the same 
time, a mine of wealth to the smaller philanthropic institutions, 
for whoso advantage they are permitted to operate upon the nerves 
of the charitably-disposed theatre-going public. The great liber- 
ality of amateur actors may be judged from an offer recently made 
to an association formed for the purpose of erecting a monument 
to a distinguished man, proposing to give a performance in aid of 
the monument-fund free— if it was given 200 tickets, half of all the 
boxes and $300 in cash for its expenses. Tha secretary added that 
this generous offer was made on behalf of the amateur association, 
whose members were anxious to aid in the monument project, but 
were not able to contribute in cash. 

Closely allied to the amateur theatrical societies are the so- 
called reading clubs. These are composed of somewhat different 
material. They partake of the character of "sociables," and us- 
ually have about thirty or forty members, ladies and gentlemen, 
all more or less acquainted and moving in the same society. The 
club meets at the houses of the lady members, and winds up each 
entertainment with a dance and a supper. These features are, 
however, less pretentious than in the case of the amateur actors, 
who do not care to go to the trouble of studying, rehearsing and 
dressing, unless they are permitted to inflict their performances 
upon tolerably large assemblages. The members of the reading 
clubs have not the trouble of dressing, for swallow-tails and 
"low-necks" are forbidden; of course, they have no occasion to 
rehearse, and any one who attends a reading can easily see for 
himself that studying is altogether dispensed with. Four or five 
members are chosen to read at each meeting, and every person so 
chosen is free to select for himself or herself what "piece" he or she 
will perpetrate. So it is not an nnfrequent occurrence for an 
evening's entertainment to consist of, say; "Enoch Arden," "Hor- 
atius," "Lord of Burleigh," "Shamus O'Brien" and "The Bells," 
or of "The R iven," "The Son of the Evening Star," "Sheridan's 



BO AMATEUE ACTORS. 

Kide," "The Night Before Waterloo" and *'Maro Antony's Or»- 
ion.'" The members are, as a rule, emineaily conservative in- 
tbeir tastes, and never select any "piece" which 13 not "stan- 
dard," or ha^ not been read '.\ thousand times before. They are 
careful not to evinca the least emotiou while the readings are 
going OD, bat preserve a death-like silence until their close, when 
tlijy appliu 1 all, eqaally, impartially and indiscriminately. The 
most difficult selections are ofteuest selected. Thus every youog 
man wants to have "TbG Bells," and every young lady is ambi- 
tious to tackle "The Lord of Burleigh. ' T.je ladies display the 
same talent for hiding their short-coaiing^ in teading-clubs that 
they do on the amateur stage, and always read sctto voce, com- 
pletely dropping their voices when they couae to a difficaU word. 
The gentlemen, on the other hand, take the orthoepic voail by 
the horns, and shout loudsr than any others the words they can- 
not pronounce. A common pastime of reading-club people is to 
select a well-known scene from a popular play, and rob it of its 
proper charm. The quarrel scene between Sir Peter and Lady 
Teazel in the "School for Scandal, '* and t ^.e love scene between 
King Harry and the French Princess in "Henry the Fifth," are fa- 
vorite subjects. 

The theatrical itch has spread even to the reading-clubs, and 
it 18 not an unfrequent thing for them to close their bi-monthly 
meetings with charades which bear just enorgh resemblanca to 
priva'e theatricals to be to.erable— no more— and to satisfy the 
craving of modern yoansfUdydom for an opportunity to distort 
itself upon a floor bearing the semblm^.e of a siage, clad in gar- 
ments not unlike theatrical trappin.:^s, in a piece which might 
under remotely conceivable circumstances, pass for a play. 



A HOEBIBLE TALE. 81 



A EORRIBLE TALE, 



LAST Ttnrpday eveuiDg, while Mr. Morris Wolf, of No. 586 
&ec(md Avenue, wiis seated at bis door stoop, one K'ernaa 
tuuk f .rcible posses>ion of his dog, a f imily pet, wdich was both 
muzzled and licensed. Mr. Wolf remoastrated, when K'ernan be- 
caaie exceedingly demonstrative and tbreatened to shoot the own- 
er of the aoimai, be-ides being abusive. Appreciatirjg the fact 
that he had a ruSi m to deal with, an ofiScer was called in, who 
proQjutly arrested tbe int uder, who. on being brought before Jus- 
tice Morgan cominiited him.— Jewish paper. 

And yet we call this a free countr v ! Was such an outrage ns this 
ever befare perpetrattd in tho light of cur boasted mnet?enth cen- 
tury civilization? Wasa Jewish Journal ever before called upon 
to chronicle such a dastardly violation of the princi les which un- 
derlie our social, political and relif^ious institutions ? Does not the 
Hilton infamy pale its ineffectu.l fires in the light of this latest and 
most atrocious villainy, happily exposed by the mig ty power of 
that potett engire of public opinion— the press? But let us con- 
sider this horrible anomaly in a calm and judicial spirit. 

Here W3 have it stated on apparently good authority that on 
a Thursday evening, of all evenings ia the week, Mr. Morns Woli 
wai calmly and quieLly seated '*at his door stoop.'' and, as f .r rsthe 
evidence show?,ho wisheonly Wolf at his door, By his side, iu mute 
enjoymentof the picturesque scenery of Second Avenue, satafum- 
ily p3t, his dog,— no common dog either, but one that was "Lo:h 
mi:zzied and licensed." What a charming scene of the simplicity 
of domestic human and canine life under the starry flig of the 
American Kepublic is here presented! But, stay! the serpent is on 
the trail, the calm of the midsumnjer evening scene on the 6-ot 
side is but the precursor of the storm to come. Suddenly there 
appears "one Kiernan,"— the veracious chronicler is conscientio 
ou^iy careful to inform us that there is only o le of him — and 
seizes the family pet. He does not attempt to argue with the dog, 
he us^s no powers of persuasion, no ! not he, ruthless d;sturber of 
the domestic peace of the Woif household; be takes the bull by 
the horns, or rather, the dog by the tai!; he takes "forcible posses- 
sion" of Lim and rudely bears him away. 

Mr. Wolf, wounded m his tenderest feelings at this high=> 
handed outrage upon bis pet, very naturally remonstrates; bui in 
Vain, the tjraut's enrs are deaf to all entreaties — and it never 
s. ems to have occurred to Mr. WoJf to try the effects of a five-dol- 
lai- b'll. Kiernan, instead of being melted to tears at the remouo 
8. ranees of his victim, does— what? — why he actually has the au- 



G^ A HOKRIBLE TALE. 

dacity to become demonstrative. We have the statement here in 
black and white. More,— he threatens to shoot Mr. Wolf, thus 
causing him to sacrifice his life for his dog; and, not content with 
being demonstrative and threatening to shoot, he adds insult to 
injury by ''being abusive." Nor have we any information that 
any of the witnesses of this diabolical deed raised their voices in 
protest. 

At this stage of the proceedings, having had his dog stolen, 
having seen the thief become demonstrative," having heard him 
threaten murder and having, finally, seen him "abusive" besides, 
Mr. Wolf begins to take in the situation. He begins to "appreci- 
ate the fact that he has a ruffian to deal with" — which shows that 
Mr. Wolf is an appreciative man. What then ? He calls in an 
officer who "promptly arrested the intruder," and it really seemed 
Hs though justice was about to triumph; but, alas! how little do 
they kno v of that which is, who base their hasty judgment upon 
that which seems! Kiernan is taken to court, but, instead of be- 
ing punished, be has the audacity to reverse the order of things 
by committing the magistrate. The reporter plainly says that 
Kiernan "on being brought before Justice Morgan, committed 
him." This was the crowning outrage. Where is our vaunted 
American freedom, where is the sanctity of our laws, when a ras- 
cally dog-catcher who is arrested and taken to court can sit in 
judgment on his judge and commit him? Was such a thing 
ever heard of before? If such a thing can ever occur again, had 
we not better abolish our courts altogether, and bow down to the 
sovereign rule of the dog-catcher ? 

But, the chapter of villainy is not yet complete. Because a 
Jew was the victim in this case, no doubt, the daily papers mali- 
ciously suppressed all mention of it, and, had it not been for our 
enterprising, courageous and intelligent Jewish contemporary, 
this outrage might never have seen the light of day, might have 
been allowed to fester in darkness, corrupting every branch of our 
city government, and sapping the very foundations of American 
liberty. But the paper we quote is ediled by an alderman of the 
city of New York, who, in his official capacity, had to do with the 
appointment of dog-catcher Kiernan. Certainly the alderman 
will use his influence to have him removed, to right this crying 
wrong, and to vindicate the majesty of our outraged laws. Such 
villainous proceedings as these must be checked, or the day of 
dire disaster is not far distant, when the people will rise up in 
their might to demand justice, even though tiiey have to reach U 
through oceans of crimson gore ! 



THE MIDSUMMER MAIDEN. 8S 



THE MIDSUMMER MAIDEN. 



THE midsummer maiden is a production, aged somewhere be- 
tween 18 and 25, common to all civilized countries and 
abounding in the United States in large numbers. They are not 
exactly a product of nature, as nature furnishes only the raw ma- 
terial, leaving the maiden 10 complete herself according to her 
taste — if she has any. Nor can ihey be called altogether artistic, 
for the art they employ seldom serves to hide their deformities. 

Of late the midsummer maiden has become quite popular 
among the admirers of curiosities, so that almost every American, 
household Las at least one. But it is on the hotel piazzas at sum- 
mer (last) resorts, in the saloons and on the decks of our pleasure- 
boats, and in the cosy recesses of our drawing-room railroad cars 
that they are found in the greatest abundance. 

Midsummer maidens are usually distinguished by their little 
feet, little hands, little waists and Ittle minds. Sometimes they 
have no minds, but in such cases nature endows them with a 
wealth of tongue, and a development of cheek enough to make up 
for the deficiency— such is the law of compensation and the eternal 
fitness of things. 

The average midsummer maiden is peculiarly constructed-, 
when in a natural state she is sometimes a collection of sharp an- 
gles, superfluous elbows, shoulders and hipbones, with sometimes 
great scarcity of hair and impure complexion. But, when dressecJl 
up for business, she is graceful and elegant; she has a beautifully* 
rounded figure, luxurious growth of hair and a dazzling complex- 
ion. To acquire this valuable stock in trade, she undergoes a per- 
fect martyrdom of tight-lacing, padding, squeezing and wrench- 
ing. She submits herself to the hands of the painter and decorator, 
and, such is her heroic devotion to her business and such her de- 
termination to succeed in it, that she actually does not hesitate to 
wear on her head the cast-off tresses of prison convicts, hospital 
patients, and morgue subjects, in the form of curls, chignons and 
puffs. 

The chief business of the midsummer maiden is to change her 
condition— not, as some scientific writers have maintained, to im- 
prove it— for she often does the former without achieving the lat- 
ter. She feels that she is in a transitory state, lifeo the worm 
which is about to become a butterfly, only that she plays butterfly 
first; often, alas, to be trodden on as a worm hereafter. In one 
sense she is a worm before marriage; she is scoured and dried, and 



8i THE MIDSUMMER MAIDEN. 

the jewelled hook is ran through her ear and she is nsei as bait to 
catch pud2:eon. la this way she is usefal to papas in cifiBcalties.with 
no assets but their daughters, these being usually willing to realize 
on themselves. 

The arts used by tbe midsammer mddens to secure their 
game are various and peculiar, but tiiey excite Utile wonder when 
we lemf ruber that tbe whole life of tbe species is devoted to ihis 
one object. From infancy upwarr", they are taught by the old 
ones of their kind to regard themselves as licensed, piofes.^ional 
catchers, and the catching of men as legitimate nnd maidenly 
eport. Old women — old enough to know better— teach the maid- 
ens, even before tbey are able to talt, to *'make eyes," to kiss, and 
"to flirt." 

When the maidens are just about able to walk and talk — the 
latter comes to them by nature and stays — they are taught to go 
through certain gyratory movements, yclept dancing, so as to ex- 
cite the interest, admiration, and warmer feeling? of the men, and 
»lso to bring about the opportunities for eng-igemeats ft closer 
quarters. As they grow older, great care is paid to their dress, 
hnd especially to shoes and stockings, whicb are of the most fan- 
tastic designs, and of which a suggesive inch or two is always 
\ isible. 

Arrived at the age when they can go into business regularly, 
theM. M.'sare taught tbe use of certain powder=, paints, cosmet- 
ics and unguents to make their skin pleasant to the fci[;ht and 
loach, and agreeable to the smell. They are also shown how to 
diess in such a way as to expose as much as possible such natural 
charms as they may have, wbile nt t'ae s ima ti jae hiding such do- 
lor mities as tbey may Buffer from; so that the girl who is really 
handsome, when on business, wears very little dress ut all. 

Thus simjtiy attirco, bhe ambles into the open matrimonial 
mart, the ball-room, throws bciseif into the armsol the first man 
she knows, imd he, clasping his arm ai^ound Ler waist, rushes up 
find down the room with be;, like a madman goaded ti frenzy by 
ttie sight of so much beauty undisi^u. sod, or r.s if determined to 
punish the girl by a SOI t of crcul.r tread-mill action. lacident- 
aliy, he will sometimes tear off her back what litile dress she has 
there; for, be it noted, the average M. M. "usually wears two yards 
of dress on the ground for every one she wears on her person. 
This, however, is mainly in the ball-room, eLewhere she not infre 
quently wears a dress that covers her form, though even then she 
hn.s it so cut as to reveal in suggestion, what it but lialf conceals 
in fact. Ot'ier ort% she employs in the pursuit of her avocation 
arp, playing with the pinno, reciting poetry in a high key with 



"3SIY UNCLE." 85 

musical accompaniment, the use of the fan as a weapon of of- 
fense aud defense, especially the former, and the manoeuvres of 
the handkerchief. 

The M. M. is gregarious. In flocks she haunts the park, the 
bluff, the beach, the hotel piazzas and corridors; she is alike at 
home in all. N.:> place comes aoji-s to her; whereer she be the 
can throw her line and play her fish. Summer hotel hops and 
straw rides were invented for her special benefit, and there are 
writers who maintain that moonlight evenings, with her inevita- 
ble "strolh " were also established for her advantage, but proof is 
lacking on this poiD*-. 

Some people think it essential to a man's happiness to have 
at least one M. M. This is a sad mistake, and often leads to dire 
results, which are seen in the Divorce court records. Sometimes 
an M. M., if taken young, and tamed and carefully handled, will 
turn out a tolerable, aud occasionally, even a good wife. But the 
vast m: jority of them are anable to shake off t'ae effects of early 
evil hiibits, and remain M. M.'s to the death, fcr which they us- 
ually prepare their toilettes and decorations far in advance, so 
that tLey may enter the hereafter, armed with the same arts and 
wiles that they practised here. 



"MT UNCLK" 

IT appears from the lift census that there were in 1870 only 384 
pawnbrokers in the United Sbit.^--, but the actual number 
must be considerably greater. In New York tbere are eighty 
licensed pawnbrokers, who must be American citizens, must have 
resided in the city one year, and have paid $ jO licensa and given 
bondsof $1,000 before they were accoided the privilege of con- 
ducting their business. There are, no doubt, many unlicensed 
pawnbrokers, and jewellers, and others who do a money-lending 
business sub rosa. C.-rtainly many por^ons engaged in tbe buai- 
n^-S!ire aveise to having tjfir occopa ion known, Pawnbrokiug 
has of la:e years been considered somewhjt disreputabl:?, notwith- 
standing that the first pawnbrokers we: e Italian merchants from 
Lombardy, of high standing in their ovn cju.try, and Lai nobis 
and royal customers. Edward I, ot England, ; awned the customs 
of his kingdom for a heavy loan, an I Ei.vard III and Eichard II 
pled;::ed tbe crow a jewels. In tbe sixteenth centnry tbe descendants 
of the Lombtiid paVrnbrokers bad become so overbearin2andextc:!^» 



/ 



8^ "MY UNCLE." 

tionate that they were expelled from France and England, and 
laws were enacted to dt-llver thf» poor from their extortions. Mem- 
bers of the famous Medici family were foremost among the money- 
lenders of I he midJle ages. 

The pawnbrokers of the present day are no better than their 
predecessors, from whom they have inherited their cruel greed, 
as they maintain the trade-sign of three gold balls, derived from 
the armorial bearings of the ancient corporation of Lombards. 
But tbe recent enactments in regaid to usury have somewhat cur- 
tailed the profits of the business. In thirty-three States and Ter . 
ritories, the regular rate of interest varies from six to twelve per 
cent. In California, Florid i, Miine, Montana, Nevada, New Mex- 
ico, Bbode Island, South Carolina, Texas, Utah, Washington and 
Wyoming, all usury laws have b^en abolished, and any rate of in- 
terest agreed upon m )y be collected. New York has the most 
stringent usury law-;; ths maximuai rate of interest is fixed at 
seven per cent., an 1 violations of t le 1 iw are made misdemeanors, 
punishable by fi je, imprisonment and forfeiture of the principal. 
Nevertheless, exorbitant interest is invariably collected by round- 
about methods, contrived sucsessfully to evade the law: The brokers 
charge for the ticket, charge f jr registering, charge for storage — 
anything to swell their profits. 

The pawnbrokers of New York do business chiefly on the Bow- 
ery, Third, an I Sixth avenues, and on the side streets between 
Bleecker and Four eenth. They are most numerous in the poorest 
districts. There are i o less than six of them on three blocks near 
tbe beginning of Sixih uvenue. Just now, business is lively with 
thp'a); thj prevalent depression in ail trades and industries has re- 
duced so many, hithert •, vv^H-to-do people to abs )lu:e want, that 
the pawn-shops are t»veistocked with wearing apparel and house- 
hold oods of all kind •^, pledged not unfrequently to procure a 
much needed loaf of bread. The consequ nee is thit the brokers 
are .' fifaring very limited loans, and m ;ny of them will not take in 
anything but] welry, which is always marketable, and which, as 
it is seldom redeemed, is a source of much gam to them. 

The articles most l;equ2nLly pawael are watches and rings, 
on which the moneylenders usually advince from one-half to 
two-lbirde of their v due. Clothing is tiken in pledge only at the 
flower class of pawnsho t , an 1, un ess it is new, or almost new, 
very little money can be rai .el ou it. All pledges are kept for 
one year, and at the end of that, time those left unredeemed be- 
come the property of tb.e broker, whose chief profit comes from 
this branch of his tr ide. It fr. qu-^ritly happens that stolen goods 
?j:e pawned by thieves or their ageats, and pawnbrokers are con- 



'*MY UNGLE." 87 

sequently subject te frequent visits by the police in search of lost 
property. Nearly all of the so-called diamond-brokers on Broad- 
way and side streets are pawnbrokers who surreptitiously buy all 
sorts cf property, and advance money on all classes of valuables 
**and no questions a keri." They are uuder strict police surveil- 
lance. The legal requirement that every person offering an ar- 
ticle in pbdge shall give his or her nama and address is practi- 
cally useless as about eighty-four par cent, of people so pledging 
give assumed nama^ and filse addresses. 

The scenes and incidents of pawnbrokers' shops have been so 
often, and so graphically described, that it is not necessary to 
treat of them here. As a rule the sh )p3 are well kept and ord°.r- 
ly, aad whatever gri2f or trouble may penetrate there does not 
disturb the peac^. The sight of men pledgiag their tools, and 
women their household utensils, for money wherewith to buy in- 
toxicating drinks, waich is SD terribly common in England, is 
happily rare among us. On the other hand, p^op^e of very fair 
social position, who, in England, would not dire to enter a pawn- 
shop, frequent such places here whenever the necessity arises. 

Professional gamblers are perhaps the pawnbroker's best 
customers. They generally wear an abundance of jewelry, and, 
when bad luck sets ia, tljey part with their baubles, one by one, t« 
raise the means to "get square" again. A large number of wed- 
ding rings are pawned every year, and more of them are redeem- 
ed than of any otherkind of jewelry. The weddiag ring is us- 
ually the last trinket with which a woman will part, and if it goes 
'tis probably to restore a dying child to life, or to feed a famish- 
ing family. So many watches have been pawned of late, that the 
brokers will now advance on them only the value of the metal un- 
less the watch be of a celebrat ed make. The consequence of this 
is, that watches are cheaper th in ever, and can be bought in run- 
ning order as low as $2. It is very common for people to take 
imitation gold to the pawnbroker's in tho hope that it may pass 
for genuine, but the hope is always delusive. The money-lender 
is too much an adept at getting the better of others ever to allow 
anyone to get the better of him. He is always provided with a 
bottle of strong acid and a pair of scales, and can tell to a fraction 
the exact value of every piece of metal offered to him. 

Pawnbrokers, more than any other class of men, except sher- 
iffs* officers, profit by the misfortunes of their neighbors. As on« 
of them said the other day to the writer: "Hard times or good 
times don't make no matter of difference to u^; there is always 
folks wanting money and ready to get it the best way they ean." 



A STORY FROM T.:E MOuGUE. 



A STORY FROM THE MORGUE. 

ON Sunday morumg an unknown man was found by the police of 
the Nineteenth Precinct dyins in the Btreet. He was taken to 
the station-house and died on tbe way there. The coroner'? in- 
quest sbowed that death had resulted from natural causea, and 
the body was taken to the Morgue. On Tuesday the dead man 
was identified and proved to be Herman Christopher Schnohel, a 
native of Libau, Russia, aged sixty-five, avd the father of two girls, 
aged respectively filtetn ~nd seventeen, who live with Mrs F. M, 
of East Fif;y-sixth street. From Mrs. M. and Schnobel's daugh- 
ters, it appears that be was at one time a wealthy, and bighly re- 
spected merchant in his own country and a member of a very good 
family. Accoiding to their story, moi«over, corroborated by let- 
ters, papeis and certificates examined by tbe writer, he appears to 
have had an eventlul and some hat romantic life. 

Some twenty years ago, then a middle-aged man and a bachel- 
or, he was a prosperous merchant in the town of Libau, wbere tiis 
brother*, Edward Schuobel, at one time a Russian Consul in Italy, 
and Dr. Call Schnohel, still reside. He was a man of lively tem- 
perament, fond of pleasure, and welcome in tbe best society. He 
fjimed the acquaintance of a handsome and fascinating actress, 
by name Antonis, lep'ited to be the illegitimate daughter of a 
weilihy noblr-mxn; fell in love with ber, and against the wishes of 
his t.imily and friends s'.ie became his wife. His relatives, dis- 
pleased at what they reg irdel as his marriage beneath his station, 
disowned him and refused to lecoguize Lim, Schnohel, neverthe- 
less, remained true to his wife, and lor four or five years they lived 
very happily tocrether. She bore him two children, the present 
wardsof Mrs. M. Not more than a year after the birth of her 
second child Mrs. Schnohel became iicquninted with an officer in 
the Russian army. Thc-y fell in love. They decided to elope, and, 
having her husband and children without a word, Mrs. Schuobel 
gati.ered up all the jewelry and money phe could find, and fled 
with her lover to America. P. or ^.chuobel was nearly heart- 
bro^^en. He began to neglect his business, his health failed, and 
after five years of weary searching f.r his lost wife, hearing that 
she Was in America, he determined to follow her. Here he came, 
with tbe few thousmd roubles he had saved from his ruined busi- 
ness, about ten vfars ago. 

Arriving in New York he embirbe-l in business, and founded 
the house of Schnohel & Co., commission merchants in ft\Ti.cy 



A STOE\ STEOM THE MOEGUE. 89 

goods, at 81 New Canal street He did fairly well for a time, and 
about four years ago he sent to Eussia for his daughters, whom 
he had left in care of some friends. In 1875, owing to some cause 
not clearly explained, Schnobel suddenly failed, and found him- 
self bankrupt and almost penniless. All this time he had been 
IE quiring for his lost wife, but had been able to discover nothing 
of ber. Thrown on the world at sixty-three, with two children to 
support, he tried hard to find employment, but in vain. Though 
he was well-educated and could speak five languages, he could 
not earn the price of a meal. His little stock of money was al- 
most gone, when Mrs. M., who had known him in his better days, 
ofifered to take his eldest girl to her home and care for her. The 
offer was thankfully accepted, and later, as his prospects grew 
worse and worse, she took charge of the second daughter also. 

For tLe past two years Schnobel had been living from hand 
to mouth, as best he could, his children giving him snch help as 
tbey could afford. On Saturday last the keeper of the house in 
West Thirteenth street, where he lodged, called and informed 
them that their father was missing. They made all possible in- 
quiries, and on Monday they went the Morgue, but were refused 
admission by the keeper. On Tuesday they saw their father's 
death announced in the paper, and went to Coroner Croker, who 
gave them a permit to visit the Morgue, and there they found the 
dead body of the missing man. That was aJl they could do; they 
had no money to pay for a decent funeral, and, kissing the cold 
face of their father, they lefc him there to be buried in the Pot- 
ter's Field. "But," said the younger gir1 to the writer, **we shall 
write to our relatives in Russia for money, and then, when it 
comes, the gentleman at the Morgue says he will give us our 
papa, and we can bury him properly." The girls have written to 
Eutsia.in this hope. 

Among Schuobel's papers were the baptismal certificates of 
his children, his passport, certificates of his decoration by the 
Emperor with orders-of-merit for distinguished services in the 
army, and several letters, all written in German. There were also 
some letters from his wife, of whom little is knowo. She and 
her husband never met after her elopement. Mrs. M. says that 
the companion of her flight died about five years ag ), and that, 
shortly after, Mrs. Schnobel went to Milwaukee, and has not been 
heard of since. 



90 m THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 



IN TEE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 

THE modern daily newspaper, and particularly the modern 
American daily newspaper, is a puzzle to most people. Ex- 
cept to those who are familiar with the inside workings of the 
great offices, the mysteries of the profession are positively be- 
wildering. But there are a few points about it which may be ex- 
plained. Reference is made in particular to the news and edito- 
rial departments. 

To begin with, every newspaper has a chief editor, a Ray- 
mond, a Bennett, or a Greeley, who directs its general policy, 
dictates the tone of its editorals, and exercises a general supervis- 
ion of its interests. Next to him in rank is the managing editor, 
who controls the news columns, and acts as the chiefs first lieu- 
tenant, in carrying out the objects of the journal. The city-editor 
has charge of all matters oc curring in the city, and is the com- 
mander-in-chief of a small army of reporters. These are the 
three chief functionaries. Besides them, to say nothing of the 
editorial writers, there are, a dramatic critic, a financial editor, 
and others in charge of the commercial, real estate, live-stock, and 
foreign departments of the paper, each being supreme in his 
special line, and subject only to the orders of the managing edi- 
tor. This last, named functionary is really the most important 
man in the office, for, in most offices, the chief is rarely seen, and 
issues his orders usually by proxy. 

The managing editor's chief assistant is the night-editor ,who 
has charge of the arrangement of the matter in the paper, edits 
all the out-of-town copy that comes into the office during the 
evening, writes'the heads to telegraphic despatches and corres- 
pondence, as the'night city editor does to the local matter, and 
takes the manager's place after he leaves the office. The night- 
editor is responsible for having the paper printed in time for the 
early mails and newsmen, for getting in all matter of pressing 
importance, and for seeing that nothing of an objectionable 
character is printed after the managing editor leaves. It will thus 
be seen that his position is by no means easy or even agreeable. 

Another assistant of the manager is the daj -editor, who gen- 
erally has charge of the correspondence — a very important de- 
partment on a large paper— and represents the manager when he 
is absent from the office during the day. He is also the unhappy 
being who receives and listens to the thousand and one bores 
who infest newspaper offices, and rush to them to tell their pri- 



IN THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 91 

vate grievances, or their supposed public wrongs. He is compelled 
to sympathize with the wocS of one and the ambitions of another. 
Often he has to exercise that patience, which is characteristic of 
newspaper-men, when he is approached by the belligerent caller 
who comes to get an apology or "clean out the oflfice." He is the 
unhappy being on whom amateur poets draw their manuscripts 
and to whom literary young ladies look for aid, comfoit and 
advice. 

Not at all the least important persons on a great daily paper 
are the reporters. They may be divided into two general classes: 
first, the routine workers, such as those who report meetings of 
public boards and societies, the doings at police headquarters, at 
the City Hall, and in the courts; secondly, the descriptive writers 
who do up public ceremonies and exhibitions, write fancy 
sketches, and do the light work generally. A peculiar class of re- 
porters, who cannot be included in either category, are those em- 
ployed to do detective work, ferret out political and other secrets, 
interview public and private persons, and do work, generally of 
such a character that, while it is a necessary element of lively and 
enterprising journalism, the editors who direct it to be done 
would, under no circumstances, take a hand in it themselves. 

Other important newspaper people are the regular correspon- 
dents, not the amateur correspondents who write special letters 
on special occasions, but the staff-men who do the drudgery and 
labor at Washington, or at Albany during the legislative sessions, 
keep their papers supplied with news, and keep their eyes on the 
public servants, ever ready to detect and expose a job or a theft. 
To these men the people owe the revelations of official corruption 
which are made from time to time; of these men the dishonest or 
incompetent official is more afraid than of the whole government. 

The travelling or special correspondents, who journey from 
place to place to describe a fire, an explosion, or a flood, or keep the 
people informed upon political prospects Ie times of election, are 
also very important members of the profession, and are frequent- 
ly charged with very delicate and responsible functions. 

So much, in brief, for the men of the newspapers, or rather 
the chief men (for many less indispensible personages are neces- 
sarily omitted, such as the resident foreign correspondent, sum- 
mer-resort correspondent, and occasional contributor. ) Now a 
word as to how they dj their combined work. 

The contents of a great newspaper may be divided under three 
heads : the editorial, news and advertising departments. The 
first is in charge of the chief editor, the second, of the managing 
editor, and the third, of the publisher or his representative in the 



92 IN THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 

publication office. The editoriald, political and other, are, vitn 
few exceptions, written by the regular paid staff writers, who 
sometimes choose their own subjects, and are sometimes assigned 
their topics, the articles ia every ctse being approved by the chief 
editor before their publicatioo. Some of them are written leisure- 
ly and at great pains; others, and by far the mnjority, are dashed 
off hurriedly late at night to accompany the news on which they 
are baseJ. Tbis has been the case witb some of the most brilliant 
and vigorous newspaper writing ever printed. 

The news comes from various sources. Foreign and domestic 
correspondence and special city articles often come to the office 
in the daytime. These the day-editor or city-editor makes ready 
for the prin'ers, who begin setting them in type at seven in the 
evening. Most of the city news, however, comes from the re- 
porters late at night, and is hurriedly read and revised and sent 
to the printers. The domestic and foreign despatches come at all 
hours of the nignt, from special and regular correspondents, and 
from tbe two great news-channels, the Associated Press and the 
National i:'ress Association. These companies have agents all over 
the world, who send to the central office in New York accounts of 
everything of interest occurring in their respective localities. As 
fast as the press despatches reach the newspaper offices they are 
turned over to the night-editor and his assistants, who revise and 
summarize them, write the head-lines and communicate the chief 
topics of interest to the editorial writers, who make the editorial 
comments. Perhaps not more than one-half of all the matter sent 
over the wires is ever seen in print. It is cut and boiled down, 
altered and condensed, and put into shppe to fit the available 
space, which varies according to the number and importance of 
loc.il and other events. Frequency long despatches, reporting 
startling events at distant points, reach the office very late et 
night, or perhaps just a few minutes before the hour of going to 
press, which is usually two A. M., and the nigbt-editor and his as- 
sistants have to handle th'^m skilfully and rapidly to get the news 
into the paper in some form. Failing this, a second, and if ne- 
cessary, a third extra edition is issued. 

Besi Jes the press associations already mentioned there are lo- 
cal companies, such as the City and Metropolitan Pre>s Associa- 
tions, which supply the papers with such local matter as their re- 
porters may fail to obtain, or which is worth using but not worth 
sending for. The matter comiog from these sources passes through 
the city-editor's hands, and is treated ia the same way a ; tbe other 
press matter. All these news aesociations are absolutely and ne- 
cessarily non-politica.1. 



IN THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 93 

Usually the last "copy' -which reaches the hands of the prin- 
ters en ft daily paper is the dramatic criticism, which, being writ- 
ten after the performance?, is late in arriving at the office. Some- 
times the critic goes there to write, but more frrqii:ntly he goes 
to his clnb to do his work and sends Lis aUicIe down to (he office. 

On occasions of important public events the work done in 
American newspaper offices is really marvellous. Take, for exam- 
ple, election day. The foils cbse at loa'\ on t'le afternoon of one 
day, arid by two A.. M. on the next morning, the pipers are out 
with full returns from all over the country. This result is achieved 
only by great enterprise. The papers have special correspondents 
in every state capital, and telegraphic wires in their offices com- 
municating with the centres of news all over the city, and the 
whole staff is busily at work all night m figuring up the results. 
Sometimes there are thirty or forty men at work at the same time, 
without counting the edi'oii il writers, who a^e busily engiged in 
crowing over victories or condolin^f wi;h their party ia defeat, as 
the case may be. To see the startling heud-lines and "roosters,'* 
which appear on the following day at the h^ads of newspaper col- 
umns, one would suppose that the editoi had spent the night in 
joyfal carousings rather than in hard, exhausting work. 

In enterprise, brghtnts?, accuracy and public (spirit, the news- 
papers of America are unequalled. They are tru3 representatives 
of the people of the country. They ore the daily food, as well as 
the chief educators, of the nation. Oae copy of the average first- 
class American journal contains more general information, more 
bright writing, more pathos, humor and wisdom than can be found 
in a whole volume of newspapers published in any other part of 
the world. Truly we may be proud of the American press. Its 
power is so wide and far-reaching that it would be surprising if it 
were not sometimes abused ; but, taken as a whole, it is an institu- 
tion of which more good than evil can be said and whcs) influence 
ia most frequently exercised on the side of justice and enlighten- 
ment. 



94 A BAVARIAN FEST TAG. 



A BAVARIAN FEST TAG 



MYRTLE Avenue Park is a rural spot in the furthermost part 
of East Brooklyn, on the avenue from which it takes its 
name. It is not much of a park, hardly a match in size for 
Jones's Wood, and in natural beauty it is not much ahead of 
Tompkins Square, in its present condition. Indeed, except for 
a few leafless trees and occasional patches of parched grass, it has 
none of the features of a park at all. Nevertheless, it proved to 
be a very attractive resort yesterday on the occasion of the annual 
volkfest of the Bavarian societies of Brooklyn, which took place 
there, and drew to the grounds several hundred people of Bava- 
rian birth, or descent, and of all kinds and degrees. The park 
was decorated in honor of the event with the Bavarian and Amer- 
can national colors, and all around were scattered signs of rejoic- 
ing and festivity. Just inside the gates was a diminutive bowl- 
ing-alley, a little further on, a dancing-platform with a rude bar, 
on which were two kegs of lager on tap at one end, and a stand for 
the coatless and spectacled musicians at the other. Near the 
dancing-floor was another platform on which were stacked a doz- 
en or so of rifles, as if to protect the kegs of lager mounted on a 
box just behind them. Standing guard over the whole were two 
members of the Schutzenverein in full uniform, and around the 
stands was the legend, "Hauptquartier des Bayerisches Volkfest.'* 
Of course there was a merry-go-round, revolving to the music of a 
hand-organ and the joyous shouts of the youngsters, and there 
were the fruit-stand, ice-cream saloon, and lager-beer stations with- 
out number. The inevitable photograph gallery was present and 
doing a good business, as was the man with the machine to "try 
your muscle," and also the Punch-and-Juiy show, and a ''G^rand 
Parisian Panorama of the Philadelphia Exposition," with a Ger- 
man drummer, who declared that the show had received the 
highest encomiums from Carl Schurz and President Hayes. 

The scene presented was very similar to those witnessed at 
the periodical Kermesses in Brussels, Antwerp, and other Conti- 
nental cities. The assemblage, too, was very much of the same 
character, consistino: mainly of small retail dealers and clerks, 
with their wives and all their children. The large number of 
babies and small boys present was noticeable. Most of the guests 
arrived in family groups — the father, in his best broadcloth suit, 
carrying a small satchel with the day's provisions, and with one 
young one hanging to the skirts of his coat on either side; the 



A BAVAKIAN FEST TAG. 95 

mother with an infant of tender years in her arms, and some 
more young ones hanging to her skirts. One group consisted of 
a father and mother, each carrying one of the recently arrived 
twins, and five other small children besides. 

"You have a large family here," suggested the writer, in Ger- 
man. 

•'Yes, fellow-countryman." was the reply; "but we can't make 
any discrimination, you know. Mother must come, and I must 
come, and so we have to bring the children. (Patronizingly) — 
would you like to hold one of the twins for a minute ?" 

The costumes of some of the worthy pic-nickers added much 
to the picturesqueness of the scene. A couple, apparently new 
arrivals from the Fatherland, were attired in the most approved 
Bavarian style. Madame had her head enveloped in a vari-colored 
silk handkerchief, from which her red face smiled pleasantly upon 
a plain-cut dress, of which the body was of bright red, and the 
skirtof red with a single border of purple. A green silk apron 
and a heavy gold chain completed the toilet. Meinherr was at- 
tired in a full suit of broadcloth, the jacket cut very shorr, just to 
the hips, and the trousers cut very wide, except at the ankles, 
where they were correspondingly narrow. A round black hat, 
such as is known in England as a "a pork-pie," a heavy watch- 
chain, and a large and snow-white shirt frill set off his handsome 
figure. There were many members of the Schutzenverein and 
Singerverein and of vereine of every description, all in their soci- 
ety uniforms. There were boys in entire suits of black and green 
yelvet, with top boots; men with blue and red uniforms and bright 
steel helmets, and others in green serge coats and regulation 
black trousers. The men in costume were, of course, the moat 
popular with the fair ones. 

Time was passed pleasantly in dancing, drinking, and seeing 
the sights. Everybody danced, and most of the men danced well, 
all with cigars in their mouths and some in their shirt-sleeves. 
The event of the day was the grand dramatic performance given by 
a few amateur actors in a wooden open-topped shanty, erected on 
the grounds. The theatre itself was very simple and conveni- 
ent, as the audience in front could see behind the scenes and on 
the stage at the same time, and the stage-manager walked to and 
fro unconcernedly, but quite unnoticed by the performers. The 
play was in Geimau, of course; th(i hero was a shoemaker: 
Schnapps was the villain, and the plot was, and to the writer con- 
tinues to be, the mystery. The performance was well received. 

At sundown the numerous beer-libations began to have their 
effect upon some of the gallant pic-nickers. There was considerable 



96 A BAVARIAN FEST TAG. 

•temping and kissing, not exactly comme ilfauf, but no conduct be- 
to^d the bounds of decency — noisy singing and violent dancing 
<ir^d love-making, but not tbe least viciousness in the gathering. 
On the contrary, the utmost good feeling prevailed and everybody 
seemed to feel good, as may be shown by one of the incidents of 
the day. The photographer's wife went to see the panorama next 
door, charge 5 cents, aud when the panorama man passed by, the 
photographer offered him that amount in United States currency. 
The panorama man would not accept, tbe phrtographer insisted. 
••Nun, sehen sie her," urged the panorama man, "wir Bind alle 
beide kunstler." "("^ow see here, we are both artists.**) 
The& there was beer all around for the sentiment. 



LIBRARY OF CONrPccc 

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